The Next DC Power Couple?
by smileyanne
Summary: She's the Director of NCIS, but he's not her agent. He's not her agent, or her former boss, and they never had Paris. Nope, instead he's the Director of the FBI. Will a brand new Director Shepard, and Director Gibbs fall for each other? If they do, will they crash and burn? Or will they go onto become the next DC power couple? Completely AU. Set around season 3.
1. Prologue

_A/N: Yes, though this probably well-might never be published, I'm so excited that whatever was wrong with the system earlier today is over with! Now I'm gonna see if I can make a story out of this idea. All I can say is that this 'whatever' is almost completely AU. Like I could put anyone's random names on these characters right now._

_DISCLAIMER: I don't own NCIS_

* * *

_"Director..."_

"Director..."

* * *

_"Yes?"_

"Yes?"

* * *

_"You have a conference call in MTAC."_

"You have a conference call in MTAC."

* * *

_"Who?"_

"Who?"

* * *

_"NCIS Director..."_

"FBI Director..."

* * *

_"...Shepard."_

* * *

"...Gibbs."

* * *

Jenny sighed, and rubbed away at her temples, desperately trying to get rid of an impending headache. And...to put off the inevitable.

Dealing with the FBI.

Grant it in her one year of being in the Director's office, dealing with the FBI had never been _as horrible _as it could've-should've been. It might've been because for the past twelve months or so, she'd only had to deal with FBI Assistant Director Vance. Now though, word on the 'Hill' was that the Big Boss was back in business over at the Bureau.

Yep, the infamously mysterious Director Gibbs was back in the Hoover building after a stint of sorting out affairs on the west coast.

Or, _again_, that's what she'd _heard_. In this business you quickly learned that word of mouth was never that reliable.

Still, apparently, he was back in the big office and the recent case of the serial killer that had murdered a Petty Officer had brought the FBI back into their territory once more. Though to be fair it was more like NCIS had been brought into the FBI's territory, considering it was the MCRT led by Anthony DiNozzo that had gotten the case. Which she should've known was going to cause all sorts of trouble.

Their serial killer-who was in the wind-had ten confirmed victims to his name. Including their Petty Officer, _and _a FBI probationary agent. So it was safe to say that neither FBI Agent Tobias Fornell's team or Anthony DiNozzo's was going to give up the case that easily.

Which made it an issue for the adults to handle.

After a minute of procrastination, and another world weary sigh, she finally got up from her chair. Grabbing her briefcase, she exited her office, made her way through Cynthia's area, and out onto the catwalk.

A mask of professionalism steadily washing over her.

In less time than she would've liked, she was standing in the dark room in front of the blank large screen. The computer technician to her left signaled that the connection would go through in thirty seconds.

She tugged on her blouse, smoothed her skirt, and straightened her hair.

It was time to see what this Director Gibbs was made of.

* * *

"C'mon on _Di-rec-torrrrrrr_, you know you gotta go."

Gibbs glared across his desk at the scraggly man sitting on the other side.

Less than two hours ago was when he'd finally stepped foot back in DC. After a full year over in multiple office's on the west coast-and some short trips over to Europe, in order to sort out some minor messes involving suspicious circumstances. All he was ready to do was go to his _own _home, drink his _own _bourbon, and sand his boat.

Or maybe fire his Assistant Director and not have to worry anymore about whether or not he was going to be shot in the back walking from the elevator to his office.

Still, during his last week of being in L.A. along with the knowledge that he would be going home soon, came a sudden burst of inspiration. That sudden burst of maybe not so sober inspiration had led to him calling up an old friend, and convincing him that it was _his _turn to come leave his country to visit _him_.

So, here he was glaring at retired FBI agent, along with his former mentor, Michael-_Mike_ Franks.

But, instead of getting to go out to one of their favorite bars. And watch Mike utterly fail at picking up a woman half his age, now he was being called into a conference call with the new NCIS Director.

The new _female _NCIS Director.

This was something he'd been dreading. So far, he'd managed to brush off all relations with NCIS to Leon. But now that word had gotten out that he was back in town. There was no way in hell he'd be able to get out of it.

Of course, the on the run serial killer wasn't helping anything.

To be fair, he could of still delayed any interactions with the new Director. But, that damned serial killer had taken down a probationary agent named Sacks, and he'd heard the new suit-scratch that-_skirt _on the Hill was a real hard ass. Trying to get over the preprogrammed sexist attitude most political figures came ingrained with in the modern day. So if the reputation she'd already started to build for herself was anything to go by, then she would have no problem making Leon rollover and give her anything she wanted.

Which would be to shove the FBI out of the case completely, all because one Petty Officer had been murdered. While eight civilians had been murdered, agent Sacks had lost his life, and the killer had crossed state lines at least twice.

There was no way in hell the FBI was getting pushed out of this case.

So with a groan of acquiesce he threw his legs off his desk, and heaved his tired body out of his far too comfortable chair. Trudging out of his office like a child being told it was bedtime, he ignored the amused chuckle from behind him as he made his way through the plexi-glass corridors of the Hoover building. On his way to the FBI equivalent of NCIS's MTAC.

Passing the retinal scan, he left the door ajar and entered the giant theater-esque room. He heard Mike make his way into the room shutting the heavy door behind him, and plopping his scrawny butt into one of the seats in the back of the room.

A technician to his right signaled that the connection was about to go through.

* * *

Both screens filtered to life, the Director of NCIS on one side, and the Director of the FBI on the other.

"Director Gibbs, I presume." Jenny greeted the man on the other side formally, doing well to hide her shock. It was just that-_well_-looking at this man that greeted her, he wasn't what she had expected.

Director Gibbs had a reputation for avoiding the spotlight, and sending his subordinates to do the camera appearances. Instead she'd learned from certain snide men politicians that he'd had a reputation for focusing on his operations, and not when the next budget meeting was going to be.

_'Must be refreshing,' _Jenny remembered thinking when she'd gleaned that tidbit of information, only six months into her directorship. So, with the lack in solid information about this mysterious director (only snide remarks from men, and whispered rumors from inebriated women). It was only natural for her to be shocked at his appearance.

She'd expected something along the lines of; a short, pale, skinny man. With oily black hair, a mustache, wearing a tweed suit with leather elbow patches, and sitting behind a desk with a U.S.A flag on it.

Not a; six-foot something, tan, muscular man. With salt-n-pepper hair that was more salt than pepper, light stubble, wearing dark jeans with a black polo, and standing in a room that looked identical to the one she was currently standing in.

"Director Shepard," he greeted back politely in a deep, gravely, baritone.

For the first time, in a long time she felt something akin to tingles go through her. Tingles that she related to something forbidden, especially in the situation she was in now.

"Something wrong, Mrs. Shepard?" He questioned nicely, the woman on the screen looked lost in her own thoughts. Something which even he could tell was unusual for her.

She practically _oozed _uptightness.

"Um, nothing. My apologies, you just weren't what I was expecting. And it's _Ms. _Shepard, but you can call me Jennifer. Most everyone does." Stuttering the most that Jennifer Shepard could ever manage to stutter, she explained the name situation a little reluctantly. Surely he knew that she wasn't married. Was this some sort of mind game? Was he trying to taunt her with how young she was? Or the fact that she was a woman?

When did she start wondering if a simple slip-up was a move to undermine her authority?

"What..._were _you expecting, Jennifer?" Not being able to resist the opportunity arising before him. He cocked an eyebrow, and looked at her expectantly while he waited for her answer.

It wasn't like he couldn't understand where she was coming from.

Sure he'd seen tabloid photos in LA of the new Director. He knew that she was petite, had red hair, green eyes, and was _very_ pretty. But, what he couldn't tell from a photo; was that her hair was a blood shade of red, and her eyes were a bright shade of emerald.

From a photo he could tell that she was pretty, but in person (or as much as this could be counted as in person) it was his personal opinion that she was _gorgeous_.

And she was gorgeous, her red hair was tied up in a bun exposing a slender neck (that he was almost positive was a milky white). There was one extra button undone on her blouse that she most likely didn't realize. And the strappy stilettoes he could just make out, made her legs look miles long.

"Damn, Probie you didn't tell me she was a _she_," he heard Mike's low comment followed by an extremely inappropriate wolf whistle from the back of the room, and clenched his eyes tightly shut. Hoping and praying that the newest _female _Director hadn't heard, and wasn't already planning on sending a sexual harassment suit his way. Because, _of course_, he was going to tell his chauvinistic boss that there was a woman Director over NCIS now.

Saved from answering at the moment by a comment from a shadowy figure in the back of the FBI's room. Jenny placed her hands on her hips and leaned forward a little. Her head cocked to the side _'Probie'_? As in probationary agent?

_"Dammit Mike. If you'd step out of that shack and think about life outside of Baja for a moment. Then you might know that we've progressed to the 21st century in your absence," _She heard Director Gibbs hiss, as he twisted so the other voice that she deemed to be a man's, may hear him.

She cleared her throat loftily, already planning on how she'd get NCIS custody on this case.

"Excuse me..._Probie_? Or is it Mr. Gibbs?" In a patronizing tone, she asked him. He turned back to the screen with a murderous look on his face, and she heard snickering from the other side. Snickering that wasn't coming from Gibbs.

"And...if there's a psychotic murderer stowing away in the back of the room, pressing a gun to your head. Then blink twice."

"First of all," he growled, taking a step forward, raising up a large hand he started ticking fingers off. "It's Gibbs. Don't call me Mr., or sir. I work for a living."

"And second, that 'psychotic murderer' back there," he said jerking a thumb over his shoulder, "just goes by Mike."

The shadow dubbed 'Mike' leaned forward a little until she could see an older looking man. Who frankly looked on his deathbed, give a friendly little wave to her and what was suppose to be a flirtatious wink.

"Okayyyy then, _Gibbs_. I guess we should get down to business," sighing she relaxed her stance only slightly, readying herself for a politically right fight. While he adapted what loosely resembled an 'at ease' pose.

It made her wonder if he'd ever been military.

"So the serial killer-_Abe Dunphr__ey_, has now murdered; eight civilians, a FBI probationary agent, and-" she watched as he began ticking off facts from a case file that has mysteriously appeared in his hands.

"_And _a naval Petty Officer." Jenny finished for him smoothly, making a quick trip to the first row of seats where her own briefcase sat. And retrieving her own case file.

"It's clear that FBI should take the case."

_"It's clear that NCIS should take the case."_

They each said at the same time; Gibbs in favor of the FBI, and Jenny for NCIS. After they both realized that they'd spoken over each other, two shocked faces took residence along with a cackling that Jenny assumed came from Mike.

"Excuse me?" Jenny asked him in a warning tone, and if it had been any other person. An agent, another director, senator, congressman, or even the President would've bowed to that tone.

But, not Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He _gave _the warnings, not received them.

"Well, I think it's clear _Jennifer _that the FBI should be handed over full jurisdiction of the case," Gibbs said making sure to stress her name slightly. Making her feel like a fourteen year old taking a reprimand from her father.

She _wasn't _fourteen, she was almost in her forties and was a Director.

"You know what, I think we can go back to Ms. Shepard now." She sneered. "And I believe that it's very obvious that this case belongs to NCIS. Considering there's a dead Petty Officer among the victims."

"Hmmmmm, okay then _Ms. Shepard_." He clenched a fist at his side, and narrowed his eyes even more at the woman on the screen. "But, what you have to remember is that there is a dead FBI agent among the bodies in _our _morgue."

"Now, don't you think that would make this case a little too personal for the agent's at the Bureau?" She drawled sarcastically, trying to bait him.

"So, you're saying that NCIS-a very dedicated agency-doesn't take the death of a Naval officer personally as well?" He fired back, and without giving her a chance to say the retort that he just knew was on the tip of her tongue.

He continued with a, "and adding that there are two counts of crossing the state border. Along with _eight _civilians which do land in FBI territory, and I don't see how one Petty Officer beats all of..._that_."

If the smirk on his face was anything to go by. Then he knew that he'd won.

Internally she groaned, going into this she knew it was going to be a long shot. That the FBI had more and heavier claims to this case then they did, but still she figured she might as well try it. Plus, it wouldn't hurt her new career and reputation to win against the famed FBI Director.

When she hesitated too long, and his lack of sleep started to catch up to him. He groaned _out loud_, and with a serious look started to _berate her! _

"Listen, _Jennifer _I realize that you're relatively new. But, this case doesn't belong to NCIS. It's not even about the civilians or the border's anymore. It's about the fact that we lost an agent over here, and I don't know how you run things over there but I sure as hell am not about to let some other agency take over. When it's one of my own people that are dead. So I don't care that you're trying to make a reputation for yourself, but you damned well aren't getting this case!"

When he stopped he was panting slightly, and was quietly stunned. Those were more words than he'd heard come out of his mouth in a long time.

But Jenny was not amused, considering she had her eyebrows raised, eyes narrowed, and with the case file scrunched in one hand both of her hands were balled at her hips. And from the looks of it her jaw were doing some serious grinding too.

_"Joint jurisdiction," _she ground out between teeth that were clenched so tightly she thought they were about to shatter. This was her final offer, otherwise she'd fight him tooth and nail all the way up to the Big Brass.

More to get back at him for what he just said than to take the case.

Gibbs was frozen in place, simply staring at her in disbelief. Most..._any _woman would've screamed and lost her cool at him for that rant. But the woman on the screen in front of him, just glared right back. And then responded like any true politician would, with a compromise.

So with only a moment of deliberation, he answered right back.

_"Fine."_

"Wow, so is this what happens every time you go off to your fancy shmancy meetings?" Both of them heard Mike's voice rasp from the shadows. And Jenny really hated herself when she couldn't help but realize Gibbs actually was cute when he relaxed his posture, rolled his eyes, and said to Mike.

"One more word from you, and no more hot tub," Gibbs warned without even turning around, and Jenny herself rolled her eyes.

Crossing her arms across her chest tightly, she huffed out a little annoyed puff of air that moved her bangs out of her eyes. And failed to notice that Gibbs had turned his attention back on her, hence missing the awestruck look on his face.

Because Director Gibbs was struck once more by just how good looking Jennifer Shepard was.

Before he could put a lock on his mouth he was saying with a cocky smirk, "So would you like to go out for dinner with me sometime?"

When Jenny's brain registered those words, she turned her eyes back in disbelief to the screen in front of her. Distantly she heard the low _'Ohhhs' _coming from the technicians to her left, and that only enraged her more.

"You honestly think I'm going to go out with you?! When you just berated me as if I were one of your agent's?!" She screeched at him, and felt perverse pleasure in the look of shock on his face.

Clearly this was a man who wasn't used to be turned down. Well, she would show him.

"Well, _Gibbs_?" She hissed mockingly.

"Oh, c'mon," he huffed in exasperation. "Coffee then? If you have such a big problem with dinner!"

She couldn't help the undignified snort that escaped her, nor the torrent of words that were about to escape her.

"You pig! You think I'm going to go out on a date with you that I'm sure you'd expect me to end on my back with my legs spread for you?! God," she spat in disgust.

"Well, bad news for you. It's a little harder to get me on my back, Gibbs. Goodbye you bastard," and with that dismissal she signaled for the technicians to cut the feed with a chopping motion.

The screen fizzled out and went black on the shocked face of the Director of the FBI, and the stranger named Mike's laughter cackling in the background.

Jenny sighed, and sat down in one of the seats in the front row. Her back was killing her from standing so stiffly. Reaching to rub the back of her neck, she couldn't help her pleased little grin.

She may not have made herself memorable by winning a case from the FBI, but she'd gotten joint jurisdiction. And it might've helped that she had just told off their formable director.

Even if it were at the risk of cutting off all allied ties with the Bureau...

This time her sigh was a little more weary, and she moved from rubbing her neck to her forehead. From now on maybe she'd just let DiNozzo and agent Fornell duke it out.

* * *

"Mike, shut the hell up," he growled at his former mentor. While the pest continued to laugh like a hyena from behind him. Not that he could blame him though. When he had the strangest urge to laugh himself.

After all, a woman had just rejected _him_. Not just rejected, but she had _violently_ rejected him. It had been awhile since a woman had rejected him, and he honestly didn't know how to take it.

Because why would a woman reject him? He wasn't very conceited, but he had seen the way enough women looked at him to know that he was handsome. And as a director, he was well off financially. So why would a civilian woman reject him? Not to mention the fact that he was a well respected, powerful, known political man. Which would be an attractive prospect to any woman wishing to get her name out there, or to advance her career.

Yet, Jennifer Shepard the brand new first female director of an armed federal agency. Had just shot him down without a second thought.

"Come on Probie, ya got your work done. Let's go get some bourbon, and get your ass in a decent bed. You look like you haven't slept in weeks," Mike said from his position suddenly right beside him. He felt a bony hand clap on his shoulder, and start to lead him towards the exit. For the first time in a while Leroy Jethro Gibbs, let himself be led.

Out the door, down the hallways they went. A few of the older agent's calling out greetings to Mike as they passed, and a few of the braver ones calling out hello's to Gibbs.

Just when they were about to make it to the elevator docks, Gibbs remembered something. Ducking Mike's hand he ignored the questioning glance, and turned back to the hallway that held the entrances to the team offices.

"Hey Fornell," he called out, and a familiar face popped out from around a door frame on the right about three doors down.

"Yea?" Fornell asked, slightly hesitantly.

"The Dunphrey case is going to be joint with NCIS." Gibbs relayed back to his senior agent, and one of his best. He was just preparing his glare for the backlash he'd get for this, when the agent shocked the hell out of him.

"Alright," he accepted meekly, with just a roll of his eyes. Slightly suspicious of this different attitude, Gibbs turned back around with Mike in tow, and continued waiting for the elevator.

"Oh yea, Director," he heard Fornell call out again. As if he'd just remembered something.

"Hmmmmm," Gibbs signaled that he was listening without turning around.

"Who's got point?"

Gibbs thought for a moment, that wasn't something they'd decided on. Heck, just deciding that it was going to be a joint investigation had almost been too much for them.

"DiNozzzo's team is the one that's got it from their side, right?" He clarified.

"Yes," Fornell confirmed, wondering where is old friend was going with this.

Gibbs was busy thinking, or more like plotting. DiNozzo had worked with the FBI on multiple occasions, and so naturally Gibbs knew a little bit about him. Gibbs knew that he was a passionate young man, and could easily be provoked.

And with that simultaneously he heard the ding of the elevator's arrival, while a wicked thought entered his mind. An evil idea that wormed it's way into his brain, it was something that he could use to aggravate the new woman director over there just a little bit more than he already had.

After all he had to keep the newbie's on their toes, right?

"Hell, Tobias," he drawled stepping into the elevator with Mike by his side. "You two duke it out, and whoever's the last standing..." he left the statement open ended, the smirk on his face saying everything he hadn't.

The metal doors were sliding shut to obscure Tobias's grinning retreating form. When Gibbs stuck his hand out, "And Tobias?" He called.

Fornell stuck his head back out, an inquiring look on his face.

"You make sure every damn news agency watches it too."

* * *

"Director Shepard," her well meaning assistant found her in MTAC a few minutes later.

"Yes, Cynthia?" She said, sipping her cup of coffee and concentrating on the case file in her lap. After the conference call with Gibbs, and her short relaxation session she simply hadn't felt like moving. So making herself at home she had grabbed the Dunphrey file again (because she was determined not to be made a fool with how little she knew on the case), and started reading it more thoroughly for the fiftieth time.

"Agent DiNozzo needs to speak with you ma'am," Cynthia told her.

Glancing up over her red sparkly glasses, she eyed her secretary warily. She was exhausted from the overload of simple male testosterone that came from talking with Director Gibbs. She wasn't sure if she would be able to deal with anymore of it at the moment from agent DiNozzo when he learned that they had joint on the case.

But agent DiNozzo was just that, an _agent_. And to top it off he was _her _agent, and she was his boss. He wasn't the director of an agency that was technically higher up on the authority totem pole than NCIS.

She didn't have to take his crap.

"Send him in," she ordered and went back to reading her case file. Moments later she heard the thuds of the metallic door opening and shutting, and soft footsteps as DiNozzo made his way to her.

"Agent DiNozzo," she greeted without looking up.

"Director," he replied, choosing to stand slightly to the side of her rather than take the seat next to her. As if she were an annoying parasite, rather than simply his boss.

No one had simply sat beside her in awhile.

"Did you talk to the FBI, ma'am?" He asked politely.

"Yes I did, and you will conduct a shared investigation with I assume agent Fornell." She said coolly, and silence soon followed. Curious to see how he would react she glanced up from her lap, and wanted to laugh at what she saw.

It looked like DiNozzo was doing everything in his power to keep from going off on her. With his jaw clenched tightly, eyes narrowed, and fist's balled he looked as if he were dying to yell at her that it was all her fault. That if he hadn't had a weak woman director as a boss, then they would've gotten the case.

"Going into it, we both knew that it was a long-shot for us to even get joint. So, I suggest you be happy with what we've got," she spoke with a clear warning that he better _not_ lose his cool with her.

"Besides," she added as an afterthought, "you shouldn't get so use to it. Because I highly doubt that in the future the FBI will be so willing to compromise." She said, thinking about the hotheaded words she'd spoken to Gibbs just moments ago.

Just thinking about it made her blood boil once more.

He still hadn't spoken, and it was beginning to annoy her. So, as a sign of clear dismissal she turned her attention back to her work. Only to be shocked when Tony spoke minutes later, "Who has point?" He interrogated.

_'Interesting,' _she thought. In all the berating and sarcasm, they'd forgotten to actually handle more details of the case. Making what should've been a half hour of intelligent first greetings and business, into fifteen minutes of..._nothing_.

Being diplomatic about it, she told him, "I'm sure yourself and agent Fornell ought to be able to work that out for yourselves."

Oh, if only she'd known then. That in less than a week her senior field agent would get into a fight with a senior field agent from the Bureau and have it broadcasted on multiple news channels.

If only she knew that one simple fist fight would change her life forever.

* * *

_A/N: Should I continue this? I'm honestly torn about it. Though I'm pretty busy right now tweeking and making some decisions on Not Her. This is something I could update every few weeks or so. _

_If I continue this, it will turn to be rated M. Not right now of course, but in a few chapters. I'll change the rating for the story once and if it does._

_Not gonna say don't like don't review. Just gonna say don't be cruel._


	2. Tell the Public the Truth

_A/N: If the fifteen or so review I got from the last chapter are anything to go by. I take it you all are liking this so far? I can honestly say I'm pretty shocked about this, I never expected so many people to like it. Fair warning I kinda of placed Tony in a more "Gibbs(ish)" attitude in here._

_Okay, I'm wondering if I'm going to be able to do this story justice. If I don't think I can do it, or update on it anymore. I'm not going to take it down. I'll put it up for...adoption? Is that the right word for it? But that's if's and maybe's so..._

_Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS_

* * *

_"In unrelated news, yesterday in front of the Hoover building a fist fight broke out between NCIS agent Anthony DiNozzo and FBI agent Tobias Fornell. Sources tell me that it is rumored to be over the latest case of the serial killer that has been terrorizing us all, Abe Dunphrey. Considering this monster has added a Petty Officer, a FBI agent, and eight civilians among his victims. Shouldn't we be happy that we have not one, but two federal agencies on this task force?_

_If only that were the case. How are we suppose to feel safe when two agents can't even get along? Or is it the higher-ups that are throwing the temper tantrums? Is it FBI and NCIS both? Or is it simply NCIS?_

_Oh yes people, rumor has it, or at least...this video shot at the scene. Backups the rumor that it was the NCIS agent who threw the first punch. Is this a way for NCIS to try and exert authority over other agencies? To try and make a statement?_

_Has NCIS always been like this? Or is it only from the leadership of their new director? The first female director of an armed federal agency, Jennifer Shepard._

_This is Diane Sterling, signing out."_

* * *

Jenny glared at the TV screen. Every muscles in her body tense, and a vein in her forehead throbbing. All-in-all, she looked as if she were having a stroke. And, honestly, even to Jenny it felt as if she were on the verge of one.

As the smug redhead on the screen faded, and the regular news resumed. Jenny closed her eyes, taking slow deep breaths and trying to calm herself.

_'You are a director now. You cannot take your gun and shoot the b-, reporter. You are director. You are director. You are dire...,' _it was her own personal mantra repeating over and over in her head. Reminding her that she didn't have the leeway to react as she did when she was an agent. Though, to be fair, she never would've been put in this situation if she was still an agent.

It seemed to be working, that and a few counts of ten in; Hebrew, French, and English.

And it would've continued to keep working, if she didn't just hear her door open and close behind her. Still, would've worked too, if the agent she knew to be Anthony DiNozzo himself didn't immediately start with, "Director, that's utter bull-."

"Hush," she snapped, her eyes flying open and her fist balling at her sides, she spun around to face him.

"Sit." She commanded, pointing at one of the conference table chairs.

For most likely the first time in his life, Anthony DiNozzo shut his mouth and meekly complied. Sliding into one of the rolling chairs, he folded his arms on top of the table and slouched forward. Somehow managing to look meek and compliant, but defiant at the same time.

Jenny could tell he wasn't happy at being told to be quiet, but she didn't care.

"Explain," she growled, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the TV where the tape of ZNN still played on mutely in the background. Grabbing the remote off the table in front of her, she paused and rewound the tape, to a still-shot of Diane Sterling.

DiNozzo glanced up at the screen, glowered, and looked back down moodily. Did it once more, and then finally looked to her.

"What do you want me to say? You won't believe me anyway." He grumbled, with a snotty little shrug.

"Try me," she challenged, the death glare she had leveled on him intensified. While thoughts and visuals of keelhauling ran through her head.

He stood up quickly, the rolling chair flying backwards. Placing his palms flat on the table this time he leaned forward instead of slouching, and Jenny mentally rolled her eyes at the stupidity of the move. He was like the typical bully trying to establish dominance in front of the teacher.

"Sometime today, would be nice agent DiNozzo..."

He simply continued to stare at her, completely silent.

Jenny was losing what little patience she'd had to begin with.

"I told you to _work things out_ with agent Fornell, not _beat the crap out _of each other!" She exclaimed, and if she hadn't been so very pissed at his attitude and this whole _situation_. Then she would've laughed at hearing the word _crap _come out of her own mouth.

Turning on the delicate point of her heel, she jabbed the remote at the screen. Fast forwarding through Sterling's all too happy report, she stopped on the video of the fight that took place in the Hoover building's front parking lot. It looked like it had been taken by a bystander's cellphone if the grainy fighting figures of Tony and Fornell where anything to go by.

She freeze framed on an image of Tony throwing a right-hook, which just so happened to have been the first punch.

Facing DiNozzo again, her temper slightly cooled. She was able to ask more calmly this time, "How does a simple, civilized conversation over who has lead turn into a fist fight?! What did he do, insult your moth-"

But DiNozzo interrupted her.

Anthony DiNozzo had the nerve to interrupt her!

"Ma'am!" He basically yelled, somehow ignoring the promise of a painful castration she was sending his way. Instead his eyes were glued to the screen, a look of realization on his face, "Ma'am, I did _not _throw that first punch!"

"What?!" She spluttered out, of all the things she was expecting him to do; blame it all on her, stay silent as the grave, and taking perverse pride in it all being only some of it. This was not it.

His eyes locked with hers again, "Director, I. _Did. Not. Throw. That. First. Punch._" He reiterated, and his voice was just so full of conviction that she almost believed him.

Yet, she was a director, and she did not trust on convictions alone.

"What are you talking about agent DiNozzo?" She asked enunciating each word precisely, like she would if she were speaking to a toddler.

"Look!" He slammed his hands down on the table again, and she gave a low hiss. He backed off slightly and said a little more calmly yet still in a rush, "We met so we could discuss who was going to take lead. And one thing escalated into another..."

"Either way," he shook his head, dismissing the rest of the story. "He threw the first punch, director. I promise!"

She hung her head in exasperation, a huff of air escaping her. Why couldn't they all see that she couldn't go on convictions and promises in her job?

"How am I suppose to believe you?"

He stared at her in shock, as if he didn't know why in the world she would think he would have a reason to lie about this. But, instead of going off into a anger fueled screaming match that would result in her taking his badge. He said, in the most serious tone she'd ever heard him speak in, "Director that video has been doctored. I swear! Give Abby thirty minutes with it and I'm sure she could prove it. And if she doesn't, I'll...you-...you can fire me or keelhaul me! Whatever you want!"

She hesitated, and apparently it was too long for Tony because he looked distinctively nervous when he started rambling.

"C'mon Director. Everybody knows Fornell was sleeping with Sterling! Hell, I even think they have a kid together! And the woman has always had a thing for Gibbs, you know the FBI director?" He asked it as if _she _the director of NCIS didn't know the director of the FBI. But, he didn't give her a chance to respond before he was off again, "and I mean I've made a move on her in the past and she kind of rebuffed me. But I'm sure I could get her to forget that, 'cuz no one can resist the DiNozzo charm. Either way the FBI's basically got her in the palm of their hand and-"

"DINOZZO," she shouted over his rapidly rising in pitch voice. Effectively stopping his rant.

He shut his mouth, with a sheepish look, slightly embarrassed at his Ms. Scuito-esque behavior.

She kept her voice controlled when she replied, "I will email the link to Ms. Scuito in five minutes...she has twenty minutes afterwards."

''...Thank you...director...you won't regret this." He said with a slow nod of his head, as if reaffirming it in his own mind. Then in a matter of seconds, her office door was slamming shut behind his rapidly retreating form.

In the sudden silence of her office, Jenny groaned.

Before her feet gave out on her, and she succumbed to the comfort of sitting. She trudged over to her desk, and instead succumbed to the comfort of her cool leather chair over a hard plastic one.

Tilting her chair back, she glared up at the image of Diane Sterling. So, she had a kid with Fornell, and a thing for Gibbs...A kid with Fornell? She had met agent Fornell, and frankly the thought of having a kid with him disgusted her slightly...But, a thing for Gibbs...Oh yea, she could see that even through grainy film.

Speaking of _Mr. _Gibbs, this whole situation reeked of him.

Grant it, she'd only talked to him once. But, a doctored video? A reporter that the FBI had in the palm of their hand? A bystander who just so happened to have conveniently caught a video, which only DiNozzo could really be identified in?

It practically _screamed_ something his reputation said he'd do.

But she didn't get on her phone. Didn't call up the FBI and demand a public retraction from _their _director. No, she wasn't going to do anything rash...She popped on her glasses, and turned on her computer.

She had an email to send.

* * *

On the other side of town while certain people in the NCIS building were most likely cursing his name, over at the Hoover building, Gibbs couldn't have been happier. Tilting back on the hind-legs of his creaky old chair, he propped his feet up on his desk with a satisfied smirk.

_Public fist fight._

Check.

_Flirt with Diane a little, and piss off Fornell some more._

Check.

_Get pissed drunk with Mike._

Check.

_Twice._

Check.

_Ruin the new director's day-._

Check.

Heck, who was he kidding? He'd officially ruined Jennifer Shepard's week.

"Gibbs, you are a bastard," Fornell almost sung as he burst through the office door. Gibbs could've chuckled at the irony of it all, instead he crossed his arms behind his head and glared laconically at the other man.

But Tobias wasn't deterred, after all a glare was this man's typical greeting.

"So where's Mike?" Fornell asked, plopping down uninvited into the chair in front of his desk. Reaching with greedy fingers to the tumbler of bourbon that sat on the corner, pouting only slightly when Gibbs' large hand swatted his away.

They both knew Gibbs could do worse damage than a red mark had he wanted to.

"Didn't think director's were suppose to drink on the job," he groused quietly.

"Yet agent's, the one's that _carry the guns_-need I remind you-are suppose to?" Gibbs drawled sarcastically, with an arch of his eyebrow.

"We both know you still carry. But...point taken," the agent mumbled, then returned to their previous conversation, "Anyway where is Mike? I expected him to be in here laughing his ass off at your successful revenge." His eyes roamed the corner office, as if he expected a hung-over Mike to be snoring in the corner.

Gibbs shrugged, taking a sip of bourbon at the mention of his _'his success'_. "Mike's on his way back to Baja," he answered simply.

"I'm sorry Gibbs," he apologized. He knew that the other man would miss having the obnoxiously randy older man around, whether he admitted to it or not.

"Don't apologize-" Gibbs started.

"It's a sign of weakness," Fornell finished.

"Yea, yea, I know," Fornell said with a roll of his eyes. He knew the rules like the back of his hand, and he also knew the only reason he was getting away with the eye roll and smartass attitude. Was because of the glass of bourbon currently in Gibbs hand.

Pushing his luck that a bullet from his own SIG was soon going to end up in his brain, Fornell spun around to look at the flat screen that was mounted on the side wall. Where the footage of the 'fight' played silently on a loop.

"Diane did good, didn't she," he said, nodding to the redhead. "How did you convince her to do it?"

After a moment of no comments, Fornell turned to glance at him out of the corner of his eye. The only response was cool glare.

Which, he automatically, took the wrong way.

In a state of shock Tobias Fornell promptly fell out of his chair. Sending him, and the chair clattering to the ground. Quickly he was back up, popping right up in front of Gibbs desk, still Gibbs remained as calm as could be.

"You slept with her didn't you?!" He demanded, and whimpered-as if Gibbs had personally offended him with the fact that he wasn't a virgin. "YOU-YOU-YOUR A-...a man whore." _The first bullet would land between his eyes. The second, his heart..._

"Why would it matter to you if I did?" Gibbs asked coolly.

"DAMMIT GIBBS, WE HAVE A KID TOGETHER!" Fornell blustered.

Gibbs couldn't help his chuckle, "Nooooooo, Tobias. I don't have a child with you, Diane does. And it wasn't like Emily was there. Nor you!"

Fornell was just about to launch himself across the desk, and most likely get _his _ass kicked trying to kick _Gibbs _ass. When Gibbs-the _bastard_-_smiled_, "Wasn't like I was there either."

"WHAT THE HE-wait, what? What the hell?" Tobias choked out, his head cocked to the side. And if Gibbs knew him at all-and he _did_\- then he knew that Tobias was most likely wondering if sex had changed at all since the last time he'd gotten some.

Before he could-_god forbid_-ask, Gibbs threw his legs off his desk and leaned forward. Setting his glass of bourbon to the side, "I did not sleep with her."

Tobias deflated, and the red face disappeared before an angry glower took residence. Yet, Gibbs was the big boss, and Fornell would do well to remember that. So it was in a dangerous tone that Gibbs warned him, "and I suggest you get out of my office. Before you're out of a job."

Wisely, Fornell heeded his advice. Though, it was said that you weren't suppose to turn your back on a wild animal, Tobias turned around and risked death by walking to the door.

With one hand on the knob, and a foot out the door. Fornell glared at him over one shoulder, "Gibbs you _are _a bastard, and I'm sure _she _would agree with me." He hissed, and pointed over at the TV where a posed professional photo of _Ms. Shepard _was displayed.

He turned to leave, yet Gibbs voice stopped him as the wooden door was shutting. "Tobias," he called.

The door stopped an inch from being shut.

"I'm okay with being a bastard," he paused, "but if you ever call me a whore again..."

The threat was implied, and the door slammed shut all the way.

Gibbs turned, propping his feet backup on his desk, and turned to look back at the TV screen. Leaning forward slightly, he snagged the remote off his desk. He pressed paused.

The image of _Ms. Shepard _froze on the screen.

He was okay with being a bastard.

_Wasn't __he?_

* * *

Thirty minutes later-_ten minutes after her deadline_, Jenny finally gets the call she'd been waiting for.

Grant it, _Cynthia _gets the call, and _Cynthia _tells her about it.

"Director, Ms. Scuito says...she's _sorry it took so long_?" Cynthia's voice rose in pitch with the inherent question stated there. But before Jenny could respond she continued, "and that she found something. And you need to come to the lab. And that you would never believe it. And she's really, really, _really_, sorry it took so long. And for you to _please _not fire To-agent DiNozzo-" Cynthia hastily corrected herself, and in the brief lull Jenny cut her off.

"Um-yes, I get the picture Cynthia. Knowing Ms. Scuito this could go on for awhile." Jenny said with a wry smile that Cynthia couldn't see. She heard Cynthia's murmur of acknowledgment and the beep as the intercom line cutoff.

With a deep breath, Jenny stood up; habitually smoothed her pencil skirt, and left her office. A rare tabloid shot of Director Leroy Jethro Gibbs, faded to black on her computer screen.

She walked past Cynthia, out onto to the catwalk, and into the elevator.

She pressed the button for the lab.

Two minutes, and a lonely elevator ride later, and she was there. Walking down the short hallway, she could already hear the crashing-_racket_-sounds of the music Ms. Scuito seemed to favor so much. Pausing in the entryway, she took a moment to process the scene in front of her.

Only Ms. Scuito was in the lab at the moment, and she was slightly shocked not to see agent DiNozzo in there as well. But, considering-everything, then it was most likely that he was hiding out in autopsy contemplating the reasons he should get to keep his job.

Because _surely _this video wasn't doctored.

"MS. SCUITO," she called out over the racket. Learning from personal experience that it was best not to sneak up on the bubbly scientist. At her call, the goth turned around to see her redheaded boss leaning against the doorway with a serious expression.

In leaps and bounds-the only way Abby _knew how _to move-she made her way to her backroom. Where her stereo was located.

Jenny's ears cried out in relief, when the racket was muted. While she was rendered temporarily deaf in the silence, her eyes worked just fine. And were able to make out a sheet of paper that was located on the lab table the scientist had been hunched over.

The heading on the paper read: _REASONS NOT TO FIRE TONY_.

"When are you ever going to call me Abby?" _Ms. Scuito _pouted from the doorway across from her. Jenny's eyes moved from the apparent _list _to lock with hers, and she watched as Abby's eyes widened when she saw where her attention had been.

Quickly-in _one big bound_-she was over at the table again, and sliding the sheet of paper under a bunch of other sheets of paper. She watched as Abby attempted nonchalance.

Abby didn't do nonchalance well, nor did she-_clearly_-know what subtle was.

Jenny simply arched an eyebrow, and said coolly while eyeing her attire, "That would be unprofessional _Ms. Scuito_." And with just those six words Abigail Scuito was subdued.

"The clip...?" Jenny reminded her, this time in a little less of a bitchy tone. With slumped shoulders, and-though she might just be imagining it-_drooping pigtails_? Abby turned to her main computer, pulling up the clip on herflat screen.

The clicking of her heels echoed off the linoleum and stainless steel surfaces, as Jenny made her way across the lab. Stopping by the monitor Abby was standing at, she waited patiently...

"Okay, seeeee..." Abby narrated as she fast forwarded it slightly, to the point of the first punch, then paused it. "Here!" She exclaimed, coming to stand next to Jenny, and in typical Abby fashion forgetting that she was ever upset.

"Alright?" Jenny asked, considering all she saw was Tony throwing the first punch.

Which...they...all ready knew, and she didn't think Abby would be so _(excited?) _over something they already knew.

"It's not what you think, Director." She assured Jenny, her hands flying as she went into tech-no-babble speak.

Vaguely Jenny wondered, as she dodged a flying limb, if she was going to make it out of the lab without a concussion.

When another hand came her way from an oblivious Abby, Jenny finally spoke up, "the point...Ms. Scuito?"

Abby stilled, and Jenny breathed a sigh of impatience, when a look that spoke of _'well isn't it obvious?' _was directed her way. She shook her head, her mane of loose red hair flying around her face.

"Director! This. Video. Was. _Doctored_! Tony didn't throw the first punch! Someone set him up! There's a mastermind behind this! Some secret evil villain! Oh my god, I hope this isn't another Chip scenario! What if this is only a prelude to framing him for murder! What if-" Ms. Scuito rambled on, gaining steam in her worry.

"Ab-MS. SCUITO," she screamed for the second-no, _third _time today.

Damn, she really needed to reevaluate her staff.

Abby took a deep breath, and hung her head meekly. Glancing at the Director out of the corner of her eye, but her focus was still on the video.

"So, you're positive this video was doctored," Jenny clarified.

"Yes," Abby confirmed.

"Tony did not throw the first punch," continued Jenny.

"No," Abby played along, "he did not. Someone set him up...again."

"And...me," Jenny thought about what the snooty Diane had said this morning, and agreed with Abby's theory all over again. "Only this time...not for murder. And I know who it is."

"You do?!" Abby sounded shocked.

"I do," Jenny growled.

Without another word, and doing as much as she could to control her anger. She strode towards the lab exit, ignoring Abby's protests of who in fact had 'done it'. Cutting her off midsentence Jenny popped her head back in the lab, her feet already pointing towards the waiting elevator.

"Ms. Scuito," Abby quieted was more, and Jenny was glad because something didn't make sense. "If the video was in fact...faked. Then why were you making a list of reasons for me not to fire agent DiNozzo?"

Abby's expression cheered up at that, "Because I was late." She said simply, as if that couldn't be taken any _other _way.

Jenny only gave a short nod, and made her escape to the elevator. The metal doors slid close to the exclamations of Abby claiming that she wasn't pregnant with Tony's baby, but had just taken a little too long to get results.

Jenny rolled her eyes, and leant back against the cool metal wall.

_A reporter the FBI had in the palm of their hand._

_A set-up fist fight._

_A doctored video._

_A joint investigation._

_FBI._

_Leroy Jethro Gibbs._

That bastard.

* * *

Hours passed, and the sun set over the concrete jungle that was DC. Traffic got heavy in the evening rush as people made their way home in time for dinner.

A dinner they'd sit down to eat with a loved one, a family maybe.

Even NCIS was deserted-except for one Jennifer Shepard-who was doing what she'd been doing for hours now. Sitting at her desk, doing paperwork, walking in between MTAC and her desk, and well-_pretending_ she actually had her mind focused on it all.

When, in all actuality, she was inwardly fuming, and wondering what the hell she was going to do about it.

Now, originally she'd been okay. After her trip to Abby's lab, she'd came back up to her office, only to be called to MTAC for an unscheduled operation that suddenly _had _to be ran today.

The operation was taking place in California.

She had concentrated solely on California.

In the back of her mind, she _hadn't _been thinking about a man she'd only met once. And that _once _was over a screen. She _hadn't _been wondering why he would pull a stunt like this. When she'd only turned down a _(date?) _with the man. And _that _was during a verbal _(fight?)_. When they'd both said some harsh things.

After her op, when she _hadn't _been thinking those things, she'd gone back to her office. To do two things; one, try and figure out how the hell she was going to do damage control for NCIS and her name after Steriling's little _report. _Two, well-_pretending _to do the paperwork, while actually still doing the first.

The sun hadn't set yet, but a blood red hue had started to spread across the sky when Ziva came in...

_"Tota, Jenny," Ziva greeted as she softly shut the office door behind her. _

_Jenny looked up from her 'paperwork', she took the entrance of Ziva as an excuse to give up on her façade. Resting her elbows on her desk, she slipped her reading glasses off, and massaged the bridge of her nose. _

_The headache that had blossomed about three hours ago, had resurfaced with a vengeance._

_"Jenny?" Ziva moved towards one of the uncomfortable chairs in front of her desk. Tilting her head, and leaning to the side, trying to catch her eye. Jenny thought that Ziva was the only one who called her by her actual name anymore._

_She was kind of tired of hearing 'Director Shepard', and 'ma'am' continuously for the last year._

_"Yea, I'm alright." Jenny answered the unanswered question, and plopped her head down in her hands. While Ziva relaxed into one of the seats._

_"Fine and randy, I'm sure." Ziva said sarcastically, and only someone with that blissful ignorance could make that sound...innocent._

_"It's dandy, Ziva. Fine and dandy." _

_"Why would someone want to be 'dandy'?" Ziva blew up, sounding suspiciously indignant at being-shockingly-wrong at an idiom._

_"Why would someone want to be 'randy'?" Jenny asked, taking her face out of her hands._

_Ziva gave her a knowing look._

_Jenny glared._

_Relenting to her obvious wishes-for now anyway- Ziva changed the subject, "soooo...what do you plan to do about Tony's little...fight? This Diane-woman, would you like her to...disappear?"_

_And just like that Ziva David went from being 'fine and randy' to all business._

_Jenny didn't know wherever to laugh or scream._

_"No! No, I don't want her to...'disappear'. It's not that I actually care what happens to her-" She protested at Ziva's surprised expression. __"I just don't want you back in that...'business'." _

_"Oh, that is okay Jenny. I have got friends, contacts that owe me. I would not even have to lift a finger-" Ziva started to launch into an explanation on how easy it would actually be._

_"ZIVA," when Jenny had her attention, she had to squeeze her eyes shut for a moment. The brief yelling just exasperated her headache, "I need to have annual mandatory hearing tests for all of you." She groaned._

_She opened her eyes again, and when Ziva didn't ask for an explanation. She didn't bother providing one._

_"No," she stated, getting back on track, "I don't want her to 'disappear'. Besides-it wasn't even her-not really-, it was the FBI's director."_

_Before Ziva could interrupt her again, she raised a hand silencing her, "and no, I guess I don't-maybe. You know, it would just, like be bad if he disappeared...I guess."_

_Ziva seemed absurdly disappointed, and nodded a bit sadly. As if not being able to torture someone would just ruin her whole day._

_Jenny leant back, her hand going to her top right drawer, and pulling out a pill bottle she reached for the bottle of water on the corner of the desk. Knocking back a few ibuprofen capsules, she mumbled-glancing warily at Ziva's sly smirk-around a mouth full of water, "remind me to tell agent DiNozzo to keep you away from the safety-pins." _

_When she swallowed, their eyes locked, and both snorted._

_As if Anthony DiNozzo could keep Ziva away from a safety-pin._

_"You guess," Ziva said, and leave it to her to focus on THAT portion of their conversation. "The Jenny I know, does not guess."_

_The redhead, snorted, "well, you never know, SecNav might not approve. Anyway, how did you know about...all of this?" _

_"Everyone knows," Ziva answered simply, and continued, "and you cannot just do nothing! Your name is being...(trashed?)!"_

_Leave it to Ziva, to get THAT one right. _

_"Did you, and their director talk before the fight? You seem to believe that he is behind this, did you do something...to...him?" Ziva trailed off at the steadily increasing ferocity of her glare._

_Jenny stood up, "NO! I DID NOT! I did not do a damn thing to him! Not when he berated me like I was a Probie agent! Just for doing my job! AND HE HAS THE NERVE to ask me on a DATE! A date that the bastard probably expected something along the lines of me just laying down and spreading my legs for him! BECAUSEEVERYBODYSEEMSTOTHINKISLEPTMYWAYTOTHETO-"_

_When she felt Ziva's hand clamp down on her mouth, she had the childish urge to lick it._

_"Calm, Jenny," Ziva-ZIVA, lectured her on staying calm. When the woman herself most likely couldn't go ten minutes without at least getting the urge to threaten someone._

_But, regardless, Jenny complied-only the director side of her remembering that there could still be other agent's in the building. Other agent's who would've just heard her screams basically declaring that she wasn't the whore every male on the 'Hill' seemed to think she was._

_If her cheeks flushed-Ziva didn't mention it, and Jenny was grateful._

_Once her former partner was apparently satisfied that she wasn't going to continue blowing up. She slowly lowered her hand, both of them watching the other, to see what the next move was going to be._

_Jenny lowered herself back into her seat, while Ziva remained standing over her. When Ziva didn't move to sit back down, Jenny glanced back up at her to see Ziva watching her._

_After a moment of silent observation. Ziva opened her mouth and spoke in a tone of wisdom, "did he ever actually IMPLY that he wanted to have sex with you?"_

_Jenny's jaw dropped, and with a little smile on her face Ziva exited her office. Leaving a shell-shocked Jenny behind._

* * *

While Jenny was in her office, pondering a conversation from hours before. Across town, in an _almost _empty Hoover building, Gibbs was doing _almost _the same thing.

_If _wandering the hallways, and looking for coffee counted.

Now usually he would've just gone out for coffee. Snuck past his detail, and made his way to the twenty-four hour place a block away.

But after his little spat with Fornell, a few issues that he'd been dealing with the past year on the west coast had come up again. A few little problems, that went along the lines of; suspicious evidence gone missing, suspects getting tipped off, and money being mysteriously deposited in a few select agent's bank accounts.

Oh yea, the FBI had a leak. One, he thought he had dealt with during the past twelve months. Yet, the phone call he'd gotten only a few hours ago suggested that the 'dirty cop' hadn't only contaminated the one side of America. No, now it was looking as if this thing were a lot bigger than what he'd originally noticed.

_That _was the only-and he meant _only_-reason he wasn't currently out getting decent coffee. And instead he was in the break room, filling up on the disgusting sludge the accounting department had replaced the _real _coffee he _use _to have in here with.

As he spat the brown water down the drain, he could only thank god that Vance was out of DC. With him gone, and Gibbs himself being back, then he could start to undo the things that had been done in his absence.

_'To hell with it. I've still got that bourbon in the office,' _if he couldn't have coffee, he sure as hell was going to get something that would keep him from murdering the next person he had to speak with.

And besides, no one was here, it wasn't going to kill him to have another glass. He hadn't even had that big of one earlier today. With a new resolve, and in a slightly more pissed mood he stalked out of the room and back down the hallway that would lead to his office.

He'd just made it past the elevator himself and Mike had ridden in the other day. And was on his way past the large open bullpen when the sound of voices stopped him.

The hallway he was in led down to MTAC if he continued going straight. But, where he was stopped at was the doorway to the open squad room, where the _teams _resided. Teams that were made up of five or six, not two or three partners.

So rightly anyone could assume that the room-therefore the doorway-would be big. Hence, if someone was in said room, and he had to pass the doorway to turn down the small, secluded hallway that branched off by MTAC and led to his office. It would be a daunting task, if one wanted to do it unseen.

But he knew he could do it.

Heck he didn't even have to do it unseen if he didn't want to. It wasn't like anyone who wanted to hurt him could even get into the building, not when he knew for a fact that his security detail was positioned in at least ten different spots on this floor alone. And it wasn't like a normal agent-who worked here day after day, would actually _want _to try and engage the aloof, terrifying, director in conversation.

He was in the clear, but it wasn't the fact that there were voices, that made him stop. No, it was what the voices were saying that made him stop and press his back up against the edge of the door frame.

_"You think it was actually the NCIS agent?" _He heard one-distinctly nasal-voice speak.

_"Oh c'mon, I heard their director's new. You know, Jennifer Shepard? That hot redhead, channel twelve kept showing pictures of all year? Yea, apparently that's her!" _Gibbs rolled his eyes, as the new voice said in a high-pitched tone.

As if he, because the voice was male-even if it _was _squeaky, had just failed to hit puberty.

_"You think she's gonna stir the pot with something so big, so soon?" _That second voice spoke again.

_"True," _nasal person conceded.

_"It was him, I tell ya. He did this." _'No puberty dude' said vehemently.

_"Who? Director Gibbs?" _The nasal voice asked, and by the instant way his name was brought into the picture. He had a feeling that-_whoever_ these people were-they'd had this conversation, or one similar to it, before.

_"Yes him! I heard the day that he got back from wherever he was, and it was rumored it was California he escaped to. But the day he got back, he went into MTAC and had a conference call with her! The technicians said that they got into an argument right off the bat, and that he literally got onto her!" _Puberty man-no-_boy_, said it all gleefully as if it were just one giant tabloid article that he was reciting.

Gibbs made two mental notes; one, check and see if there were actual articles about it yet. And two, fire the MTAC technicians because he had a pretty good idea of where this conversation was going.

_"And THEN he asked her out! And she told him off! They said she screamed at him, called him a bastard and everything." _Gibbs heard puberty boy curse softly and then say, _"I wish I could do that!"_

What had he ever done to this person?

Gibbs racked his brains, trying to place if he knew the people behind the voices. They didn't ring a bell, nor send up any alerting red mental flags. But, though the person behind 'nasal voice' didn't seem to have a problem with him-'Puberty Boy', seemed to be prejudice against him.

_"You think he set the whole thing up. Just because she wouldn't go out with him?" _Nasal voice asked in amazement.

_"Definitely." _Puberty Boy confirmed.

Using the skills he'd utilized from his time in the Corps and in, well-the entirety of his career. Like the shadow he use to get to be, he melted into the background and passed the doorway. From one frame edge to the other, he only managed to get a swift glance into the room.

From their positions, and the lighting he could only make out one face.

A kid named..._Gred Forge_? Or at least he thought, was the one he could identify to be the nasal voice.

But Puberty Boy was hidden in the shadows, and Gibbs couldn't take any longer or go any closer to see who he was. Not without, giving himself up, and well-two people _gossiping. _Wasn't all _that _important right now.

_'No,' _he thought later, when he was sitting at his desk again. Staring at his desk phone, _'it's about the fact that people seem to think I set all this up. Just because...she said...no.'_

It wasn't.

It _really _wasn't.

His hand drifted to the cradle, and picked up the extension. He should be calling his contacts and working on finding out what the hell was wrong with FBI agent's right now.

But..._instead_...his fingers were dialing a different number.

At midnight on a Wednesday, Director Leroy Jethro Gibbs picked up his phone and dialed the number to one Director Jennifer Shepard.

He waited with bated breath as the phone rang.

"Hello?"

* * *

She was sitting at her desk, just thinking over everything. The-_infuriating_-conversation she had had with Ziva, and how wrong her last words had been.

Not...that they _had _been wrong. They had been _right_. He _had _implied those..._connotations_.

He _had._

_Hadn't_ he?

The phone ringing brought her out of her reveries, and she didn't even have the presence of mind to wonder who could be calling her this late. At her _office_.

"Hello?" She answered, picking up the phone and bringing it to her ear.

She heard heavy breathing.

"Um...hello," a deep voice greeted her back. A deep, _deep _baritone that sent shivers down her spine, and anger to her heart all at the same time.

"Director Gibbs," she hissed.

"Jennifer." He fired back, and he didn't even take the time to wonder why she would be in her office this late. He hadn't before he'd called her, somehow he'd known. Known that she was the type to be in the office at midnight on a Wednesday.

"Thought we agreed it was _Ms. Shepard."_

"Thought we agreed it was Gibbs."

She glanced at the clock on her computer with a reluctant smirk. Oh god she should be screaming at him. Yelling curse words down the phone, and yet she was _this _close to smiling.

This banter they had going on...it was _invigorating_.

"Maybe this time we'll be able to beat our record, and have a twenty minute conversation," she said in sarcastic wonderment.

"And what was our last one?" Gibbs too was getting sucked into the conversation, he was well aware that they would be at each other's throats in minute. But for now, couldn't he enjoy a conversation with a woman that was intelligent. _Knew _she was intelligent, and wasn't afraid to _show _her intelligence.

"Fifteen minutes."

He chuckled slightly, and the line went silent. The time stolen, time they'd taken to actually enjoy a bit of today, was about to be given back in anger and-_hopefully_-explanations.

"Why did you call me, Gibbs?" She asked him, all playfulness gone. Serious infused every inch of her.

"I don't know." For the first time in forever, Gibbs admitted to someone that he _didn't _have all the answers.

It made a knot inside of him-_ease_.

"Didn't think I would be at home by now?" She questioned with an edge.

"Didn't really think about it at all."

The line went silent once more, and all Jenny could hear was his heavy breathing.

It was _oddly _comforting.

He might've been content to let the silence remain, but she wasn't. "So, did you see Mrs. Sterling's report today." Her voice tensely goaded him.

"_Ms. Shepard_, let's go get coffee..."

...

...

"You bastard," she whispered hoarsely. If he could see her now, he might've laughed. Her eyes were widened comically, and she looked furious and as if she'd just been slapped all at once. It was like deja vu.

"You don't get it do you?" Growled Jenny.

Gibbs stayed silent.

"You can do this. Set up agent's and _director's _to take the fall. You can do this _all _without facing the consequences! All because you have your assistant's, every subordinate you have-take _your _place in the camera flashes. Hell, Gibbs! Half the people in the intelligence community think you've been dead for the past ten years!"

The _bastard _was still quiet.

"YOU can do that _all _and not worry that someone's going to claim you are unqualified! You can accept a freaking date, and not worry that the only reason they're asking you out is because they heard rumors that you slept your way to the top! You don't have to do everything, and anything to command respect all because you _sometimes _wear a skirt and not pants!"

"Senator Winters is a cross-dresser," Gibbs revealed...

"...Ha," she chuckled weakly. Her body going limp with shock once again, she wanted to stay angry at him. She still was, but he was making it pretty hard to continue this...until he...said...

"So you wanna get coffee or not?"

Her eyes slid shut, and she gave a muffled scream of frustration. Her feet stomped briefly against the carpet. She had the irrational urge to tell him that he was just being..._mean_, while unbidden tears pricked at her eyes.

_YES_, she wanted to get coffee with him. And that infuriated her!

"Gibbs-you, you- know what? You pulled this stunt. Doctored the video, got the reporter-who has a _kid _with agent Fornell-to release it to the press. You ruined my name in that one report. I'm still such a new figurehead that, that _one _bad press release can have me destroyed. And...you want me to go get coffee with you?! You know what? If you ever want a shot of me getting coffee with you, then you go out in front of everyone. Get back in the world Gibbs, and tell people the truth. Then-...then, you can call me to collect."

"Other than that, then I'll see you in hell Gibbs."

With that Jennifer Shepard hung up on Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

...

...

She looked back at her computer...they'd lasted five minutes.

A wry chuckle escaped her, and she shook her head in resignation. Her head swam with all the emotions that had swamped her in the last five minutes alone.

She was exhausted, and after her conversation with _him _there was a good chance she might actually sleep when she got home.

* * *

The next day, Jenny came in late.

Carrying a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, and her briefcase in the other. She stepped off the elevator and into the squad room. Only to be greeted by the sight of all of her teams, huddled around their individual TV's.

Trying to catch a glimpse at one screen, and wondering if the world was ending and she just hadn't been informed. She made her way over to the MCRT's section.

Tony, Ziva, and Tim were all gathered around their screen. Tim and DiNozzo with expressions of shock, while Ziva looked like she was wondering what was the big deal.

None of them noticed her approach, standing behind them she arched her neck and stood on her tiptoes.

She gasped.

On the screen was a press conference, a single podium set up with mics positioned all around it.

The FBI emblem was emblazoned on the front. Black suited men that were identical to the one's she had on her own security detail-only _ten times_-more of them, were also surrounding the edges of the podium.

The crowd in front of the stage, that held multiple press reporters, silenced at some unseen signal. And Jenny glanced around, everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

She was too, but she knew what was about to happen.

It was the shock of it all.

Walking across the stage right now; dressed in a black suit and tie that matched his detail's, was one Leroy Jethro Gibbs. The elusive FBI director had resurfaced.

He was getting back out in the world.

He was going to tell the public the truth.

She didn't need to stay in the bullpen any longer, didn't need to watch the release. Didn't need to later hear, that the FBI director no one was really sure existed anymore, had issued a public retraction.

Stating that the fight had been no one's fault.

'Unreliable sources,' he'd said.

'Director Shepard remained polite and diplomatic,' he had challenged a reporter.

She hadn't had to hear any of that, so she'd made her way up the stairs and over the catwalk. That day Jenny hadn't waited with everyone else to hear the words of that man, but had retreated into her office.

After all, she was expecting a call from a man about collecting on a coffee date.

* * *

_A/N: GONNA BE A LONG A/N. Think this is the longest chapter I've ever wrote. Don't expect one this long every time. Lol. Okay so first, sorry about the whole Tobias 'Man Whore' thing yea...that was pretty stupid... (: actually my humor is pretty stupid. So dang I felt like I had expectations to live up to! It was a weird feeling! Sorry, if this let any of you down. I'm trying on this but this is the first type of story like this that I've wrote. And it's a hard thing to break into. And where I live it's 3 a.m. So I'm going to bed THIS CHAPTER NEEDS TO BE READ OVER FOR MISTAKES. But y'all seemed pretty excited for an update, so I'm just going to update it now. Then in five hours when I wake up I'll check over it. AND THE CURSING. I DIDN'T LIKE THE AMOUNT I PUT IN IT SO I'LL CHANGE THAT TOO_

_And rated M...I plan to turn this into an M rated fic, like in the next chapter type of soon. But if too many of you are against it, then I may not do it. So let me know..._

_"But we're not stupid-we know we're called Gred and Forge." ~Harry Potter, the Twins._


	3. He Never Called

_A/N: WOW! It amazes me, the response to this story. On one hand it's like 'oh thirty people have reviewed...', but to me *acting like a major fangirl* 'oh only two chapters and yet thirty or so people have reviewed'! Geez. How the heck am I suppose to live up these expectations?! Not so much yall's, but mine:/. Sorry it's been so long but my health has been getting in the way._

_DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN NCIS_

* * *

A month passed, and October faded into November.

And Gibbs didn't call.

Halloween passed by in a blur of freaky cases, and the crisp cool winds surrounding D.C turned into downright _cold_.

Still, Gibbs didn't call.

Now it was November ninth, and she was standing in her en-suite office bathroom. Debating her life problems when she was suppose to be getting ready. This year, whatever suit (though she wondered if she was a bit of a hypocrite for thinking of anyone like _that_) made these types of decisions, had told the SecNav that she wasn't going to the Marine Corps Ball this year.

Instead some senator (or maybe the President-her head hadn't really been there the last month), had organized this great big ball. An _actual _ball, with ball gowns and tuxedos, the whole extravaganza. And had given out "invitations" to; each and every senator, Director heads, SecNav, SecDef, etc.. Basically, if you had a prominent name in the District of Columbia-then you were going to be there.

She was going in order to schmooze money out of men that only stared at her breasts the whole time-per her boss's orders. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been going at all.

No, instead she'd be sitting in MTAC in the dark...because..._he _was back.

Technically he wasn't _back_, she'd only heard the whispers. Whispers that had reached her exactly three weeks ago...

She gave a world weary sigh and her eyes slid shut. Bowing her head, she rubbed gently at the bridge of her nose, where a headache had been forming from her glasses.

Two hours until she had to be there? And she was already running late.

_'Ugh,' _she straightened her shoulders back and opened her eyes again.

She stared at the hanger on the back of her bathroom door. The room was steamy from the primitive shower she'd just gotten out of, and she was standing by the fogged up mirror. One towel wrapped around her damp hair, and another around her naked body.

Still staring-more like _glaring_-at the dress hanging on the back of her door. She turned back to the counter, where she had a blower dryer, and a curling wand plugged in, with a big bag of makeup sitting beside them. Unwrapping the turban on her head, she used a corner of it to clear the mirror, and watched the wet wine-red curls fall around her shoulders.

There was a _lot _of work to be done.

..._Surprisingly_, she managed to make loose ringlets, the smoky eye look, _and _a good more five minutes of glaring in at her dress. All in thirty minutes...

So...the only thing left to do now, was actually get dressed.

It wasn't like she minded the dress, it wasn't indecently inappropriate. She'd had to wear _way _worse a few times during her stint as an agent. It was just that...she wasn't in the mood to wear a dress like this.

Heck she wasn't in the mood to get dressed up, and see people. Not when all she wanted to do was get on the phone with her contacts, and hunt the..._Frog _down.

That's right, for the first time in close to five years, whispers were going up concerning La Grenouille.

Grant it, it was only whispers, but after going so long without a hint of information. She was desperate to get back on the trail, something she'd been busy with the past three weeks.

Gibbs never did call to collect on that coffee date.

She'd worried about it, for the first week. Had even contemplated calling him herself, but something had stopped her. If he had wanted to call and collect, he would've.

He hadn't, and she hadn't called. Instead she had fretted for seven complete days, then Ziva had come to visit her. Their conversation had wiped her mind completely of those worries, and instead had engrossed her in the hunt she'd been embroiled in for years.

She had become-_concentrated_-in her efforts, and she remembered wondering at some point if the same thing had happened to Jethro. Because for the FBI Director who was suppose to be letting the world know he wasn't dead, he sure as hell hadn't been seen in public lately.

Besides his press conference public retraction, words like _'disappeared'_, _'mission'_, and _'hoax'_. Had penetrated the fog of her brain, because the elusive man hadn't been publically seen again.

He'd vanished once more.

And _damn _if she didn't wish she could do the same.

She wanted to disappear, to not have to go to some ball just to use her looks, and definitely not to have her boss assign her a _personal stylist _for when she had to go out officially in public. A personal stylist that wanted to take advantage of her ability to get name brand designers, and make her wear dresses with names she couldn't even pronounce.

The little number she was staring at was made by some Italian guy. It was semi sheer, had long sleeves, a flowing train, was embellished all down the front, and completely black.

She felt in a black mood.

Believe it or not, she'd tried to get a simple dress from Dillard's. Telling _that _to her personal stylist had almost given the man (yes a _man_) a heart attack. Instead of her plain outfit, her 'stylist' had been bound and determined that if she was going to wear black. Then she wasn't going to wear _all _black.

The complete outfit, ended with the dress, silver strappy decent-sized heels, and sterling silver cubic zirconium hoop earrings. She'd only gotten away with the earrings by the skin of her teeth, and by the fact that her 'stylist' wasn't that good when it came to jewelry.

Her 'stylist' had wanted to come and help her get dressed.

Fredrico was now on his way to an empty and locked Georgetown townhouse, for multiple reasons. Least of all, because she wasn't entirely convinced the man was as 'gay' as he claimed he was.

No stylist around, and yet she still couldn't wear what she wanted too. The only thing she had control over was...she turned to the counter and looked at what _else _was lying on the surface.

There sat a set of La Perla's finest, even if it was her choice to wear black. With the red scraps of lace on, maybe she'd feel a little more confident in herself tonight.

_'Grrrrrr,' _she wasn't going to be feeling confident in herself at all tonight. If she got griped at by her boss for being late, so with a muttered curse. She started the arduous process of making herself looking presentable.

After all, she couldn't keep her date waiting downstairs forever. Now could she?

* * *

Two hours later and she was finally..._there_. There being a ballroom in a mansion she didn't bother getting the name of, she had let her driver handle those little details.

And now, after walking down the steps to the bullpen, and having DiNozzo and McGee gawk at her. She'd-_sadly_-arrived at the right address, and now had to endure this..._hell_ for at least five more hours.

"My dear, I am going to get some refreshments. Would you like something."

"Um, no thank you," she said distractedly. When the man beside her still didn't move she turned her attention to him and laid a light hand on his arm.

"Really, Ducky. I'm okay," she reassured the elderly M.E. for what seemed like the millionth time that night, In what seemed like a patronizing gesture, he nodded his head and took off to the side of the room. Where large buffet tables, decorated in white linens, and laden with large trays of whatever food you could possible think of-was located.

For what she _knew _to be the ninth time in the past hour, she sighed. Her headache was coming back, and the over packed room was hot and stuffy. She watched as Ducky-her date-made his way through the pressed together bodies.

_'He'll be lucky if there is anything left by the time he get's there.' _She thought wryly, and she was right in some aspects. It wasn't the anorexic, too young, trophy wives on the arms of all the men in the room, that they would have to worry about eating everything. Or-eating _period_.

No, it was the handsy, stinky, potbellied men, that would be the most threat to her and Ducky's starvation tonight. More like Ducky's-actually. If she had to actually interact with people at this thing, then she sure as hell wasn't going to torture herself even more with a rubber chicken dinner.

She lost Ducky in the crowd, and eventually turned back around-surveying the scene. Unconsciously, she felt herself eyeing the perimeters, the borders of the room where the light didn't filter so well to. She didn't know why she was doing it, or what she was looking for (or maybe she did). She hadn't had that necessity to be so aware of her surroundings in years.

"Hello, Ms. Shepard," a voice greeted from behind her. She spun, and with an irrational surge of disappointment she realized the man behind her was Leon Vance.

It was then, that she _knew _what (more like _who_) she had been unconsciously looking for.

"Hello, Mr. Vance." She said politely. She had no problems being polite to him,...it was his boss she had problems with.

It was his boss that had never called.

It was his boss she had been looking for.

She hadn't meant to look for him, it was just that-with his newfound 'resolution'-she kind of expected him to be here. But, she guessed she shouldn't be surprised, apparently the words she had gained through the 'fog' had been correct.

Gibbs had become part of the 'dead' once more.

He wasn't here, that-her gut was telling her-was _almost _certain. It didn't make sense for him...to be here...when his assistant director...was standing right in front of her. Her assistant director, Caitlin Todd, didn't come to the same functions she did. Unless ordered so by the SecNav.

She shouldn't be this disappointed.

But she was.

Shaking her head slightly, she realized Vance was jabbering away. With her heels on, she was eye level with the man, and able to see the sweat beading on his brow. Inwardly she rolled her eyes, she didn't know why everyone became so nervous around her these days.

Her thoughts wandered off, there was politicians she needed to be getting more money out of. Feathers she'd ruffled over the past three weeks that needed to be smoothed. And most definitely, alcohol that needed to be consumed.

Contacts that needed to be made, though she didn't think the types of contacts she needed. Could be found here among these stuffy _suits_, the types she needed was more of the..._'shadows and guns' _type.

"Excuse me," she said, cutting the man off, "but I have business to attend to that's quite pressing."

"Of course," he looked down, slightly abashed.

She didn't stay to give pleasantries, instead she made her escape. In a flash of black, she was gone in the crowd.

* * *

A hour (or was it two?) crawled by, and the sun was starting to set when she found him.

Earlier her and Ducky had met up briefly, but the older man was enjoying himself far more than she was. So instead of bringing him down with her, she used the 'business' excuse again. Giving him an out to go and woo an elderly senator's mother.

Now, thoroughly put out that she'd been delayed in getting her scotch, she was standing in the middle of the room. Staring, point blank _staring_, at a figure in the shadows on the opposite wall.

He, she could tell from his height and broad shoulder (it was either that or she was a very butch woman), was dressed to look like a security detail. Normally security details would just wear suits, but this was a slightly more upscale event so they were dressed like penguins today.

Instead of like monkeys.

Despite the dark tux, she doubted she was mistaken in his identity. Though she was a tad inexperienced on what agents could and couldn't afford nowadays, she didn't think they would be wearing Wingtips.

Unless they were Anthony DiNozzo, and the man she was glaring at _definitely _wasn't.

He was here, and yet the bastard was hiding at the same time.

To add insult to injury he was hiding in plain sight.

Fury, and a bit of annoyance, although not entirely aimed at him, coursed through her. Frustration, annoyance, and fury at the situation and the man that she hadn't even met in person before.

But...he was right there...she could change that.

Twisting, dipping, and twirling she felt more like she was dancing and not walking as she made her way around multiple bodies. One over pointy heel stepped on her toes, and she clenched her teeth. Trying hard not to throttle the botoxed woman who didn't bother apologizing, only tried to smile at her.

Jenny grimaced back, and continued-limping-forward. When she got out of the majority of people and now had a clear path to the man she was making her way towards, she glanced up.

Grant it, he was wearing sunglasses (indoors might she add), but she could tell he saw her coming. Saw her limping the best she could in her own pair of heels. She was positive about that, considering she could make out the small little smirk on his lips.

She tried not to focus on how utterly sexy that smirk was. Along with the hair that was more silver than she remembered, and his relaxed posture that oozed confidence...

And here she was with messy hair and a limp.

Tamping down on the slight urge she had to run and hide from him, she continued. Coming to a stop by his side-back against the wall, he stayed staring forward (at least she thought-with those sunglasses she couldn't tell).

Neither of them spoke.

"You never collected." Yea, she should've known she wouldn't have lasted long. Not when being so close to him and in personal she could smell the Old Spice on him, what smelled like coffee, maybe an alcoholic beverage, and...something else. Not when she could see him so much better than she could on a grainy old screen, the way his jacket was bulging with sinewy muscles, silver hair, strong jawline, and his trim waist.

This La Grenouille chaos really had her messed up, because it was all she could do not to think on what might be below that trim waist.

And it might have something to do with the fact...he never called.

"Didn't figure you wanted me to," he answered simply.

Had she wanted him to?

* * *

He had noticed her the moment she entered the room. Hours earlier she had come in, in a black little number.

Looking so very different than the women around them. They all had taken this excuse for a ball as an invitation to become Cinderella, wearing the big poofy dresses. Huge skirts, but the tops were quite revealing. Bare cleavage was spilling out everywhere, and bare backs were assaulting his eyes.

Some of these trophy wives (the ones that were more silicone than flesh) could pull off dresses like that. Others...well...they needed to get a big dose of reality.

Then she had come in, on the arm of an older man he knew quite well, dressed in a form fitting black gown. Though she could've passed for going to a funeral, the silver accents, and her curly red hair offset that image wonderfully.

Of course it had nothing to do with her flowing curves, and...accentuated chest.

She hadn't seen him originally, he knew that. He saw her leave 'Duck', and talk briefly to Vance who was taking over his position for tonight. Then he saw her try to make her way over to the small alcoholic selection in the corner, but get stopped by even more senators.

All of whom, had wondering hands that she quickly put an end to.

He'd watched, vaguely amused-sometimes experiencing irrational urges of jealousy, as she ambled around for a little bit. Anyone-who looked closely-could tell that she didn't want to be there, and if she had to be there then she didn't want people approaching her during it.

So he'd kept to his side of the room, and waited to see if she would see him. When she did eventually turn to face him, he completely missed her eyes roaming over his body, because he was busy with his mouth most likely gaping like an idiot.

For the first time (let's face it, you can't actually see that well over fuzzy screens), he got a look at Ms. Shepard's eyes.

She; was petite (the heels made up for her height), curvy, had surprisingly long legs for someone so small (though it may have been the heels), had beautiful deep red hair that brushed against the top of her ribcage, and emerald green eyes that he could make out all the way from here.

Emerald green eyes, that he was sure would sparkle and twinkle. Only today...there was a...shadow blocking that twinkle.

He didn't realize she'd been making her way over to him, until he saw her falter. When that plastic surgery made woman, stepped on her foot, he briefly pondered if he would have to arrest the Director of NCIS for murder tonight.

_That _might make tonight interesting.

Though he only had to endure this, until he was ready to go outside. And he wasn't ready for that until the sun went down.

"You never collected." Her tone wasn't accusing-simply curious, but he still bridled. Probably at the fact that someone had managed to surprise him. That someone being a beautiful redhead wearing at least six (maybe seven if he guessed correctly) inch heels.

"Didn't figure you wanted me to."

True he'd issued the public retraction that had the presses buzzing, and she had said he had a shot with her if he did that. He'd done that, and then he'd done some thinking.

He didn't know what it was about Jennifer Shepard. Of course he was attracted to her, but to be fair he was attracted to a different woman on a daily basis. Maybe it was because she was the first one to turn him down in so long?

Either way, he hadn't called. He wasn't going to subject her to him, if she didn't want him. And for the first seven days he'd tried to tell himself that he wasn't being tempted. Wasn't being tempted to pick up the phone and call her, and actually see if she wanted to go out to dinner. Without his asinine stunt hanging over them.

That second week, his contacts had, well-contacted him.

He couldn't really tell her that most of his month had been spent working non-stop on the leak. And that, the reason he'd disappeared again was because that it was just plain easier to work on that type of situation out of the public eye.

Leon Vance had taken over most of his duties again, including shaking hands at this event. While he came also, only he was the one standing in the shadows. Waiting until he saw vivid colors of sunset out of the wide bay windows, and he could finally-get on with the business that had led him here in the first place.

"I wouldn't have told you to do so. If I didn't mean it," she stated simply. Still not turning to look at him. He didn't turn to look at her either, instead both of them kept scanning the crowd.

Automated responses when you were an important figure in the business they were in.

"I'll remember that for next time." He said in wry satisifaction. His mind wasn't really all there tonight (it was still back in his office trying to figure out who was a dirty agent), otherwise he was sure he already would've been in the process of convincing Ms. Shepard to leave with him. In light of the somewhat subtle admittance, that she wouldn't have minded going to dinner with him.

Yeah, maybe he was slight pig...

After a while of compliant silence, she glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye. "You do realize, that as Director's we are technically allowed to be here."

At his befuddled look, she elaborated in a sarcastic whisper. "A.K.A. That was my polite way of asking you if you're trying to impersonate James Bond."

Despite the very many responses he could've given to that. Some of which included say nothing, like she half expected him to, because frankly she didn't expect him to even know who James Bond was.

Instead he scoffed and said, "martini-my ass. Bourbon."

With wide eyes she turned slightly to the side, facing him. Drawn to her eyes, he asked in a good-natured tone.

"Which one would I be?"

"Considering I'm doubting that your hair was always that color...I'd have to say Sean Connery or Pierce Brosnan."

Tilting his head down at her, even with her heels there was a height difference, she saw an eyebrow arch up over one of the tinted lenses. "I don't know whether to take that as a compliment, or offense that you just called me old."

A light flush spread across her cheeks, and the bridge of her nose. He wondered what she would think if she found out he wasn't even fifty.

"Take it as a compliment," she said frankly, just slightly embarrassed, turning back to the crowd.

"Anyway you never answered my question?"

"You never asked a question," he retorted.

"Why did you disappear?" She asked bluntly.

_'Wow, she sure didn't hold back.'_ He was amazed that a woman who worked in politics even knew how to speak without someone else dictating her words.

When he didn't answer she said, "was it some kind of _Give a Mouse a Cookie _situation?"

She expected to throw him for a loop, but she was quickly realizing that she couldn't expect anything when it came to him.

"Personally, I prefer the _Give a Pig a Pancake _scenario more."

_'Of course you do.'_

"You would think, that I would be able to give one simple public statement. Without them trying to capture my every move afterwards," he groused, referring to the press.

"To be fair, most people thought you were-"

"Dead. Yeah, I caught onto that." He finished for her.

"So I'm just going to assume that's the reason for your whole getup." She gestured to his outfit, with a airy wave of her delicate hand.

"Yep, trying to blend in with the protection detail and all."

"Well, your doing a horrible job of it." At his inquiring grunt, she turned and in a matter-of-fact manner grabbed a lapel of his jacket.

"First of all, I don't think they wear two thousand dollar jackets. Nor do they wear Wingtips." She said eyeing him critically.

"How would you know what protection detail wears?" He challenged her.

"Clearly you don't," she fired back.

"Let's just agree to disagree," he said wearily. A quick glance to the far wall where the windows and balcony were located. Showed that he had maybe forty-five minutes at most until it was time for him to make his escape.

He didn't want to be embroiled in a fight with Ms. Shepard when that time came.

Without releasing her hold on him, though he really wanted her too considering he was starting to react to the feel of her small hand on him, she followed his gaze to the windows.

"Why are you here?" She questioned him suspiciously, tilting her head daintily to the side.

"When a man and a woman really love each othe-" he began.

"No, you idiot." She snapped, slapping her hand against his shoulder. "Why are you _here_. At the _ball_. If you aren't here to slap the money makers hands, and smile handsomely at the cameras. Then why are you here?"

"You think I'm handsome?" He focused on that fact, smiling cheekily.

She really tried not to focus on the fact his smile was kind of-sort of-maybe just a little bit, cute.

"Focus," she hissed. Not at all threateningly, he just didn't have the heart to tell her that she wasn't the least bit scary to him in that moment.

He rolled his eyes, and sighed heavily. "I am here, Ms. Shepard, to make contacts." He answered simply.

"Why are you here?" He returned the question.

"Well, Mr. Gibbs, I am a simpering woman pathetic woman. Who lives to get dressed up, and be showed off as if she were the trophy wife of the American government."

In her rueful ire, she unconsciously took a step closer to him, her warm hand still resting on his broad chest. Though he was trying to ignore it, and she was unaware of it, she was moving closer and closer until they were toe-to-toe.

Leaning down, he got in her face, so closer their noses almost touched. As he came closer, he could finally see awareness of their physical situation become apparent to her.

"BS," he growled, and _he _was menacing.

"Don't you believe me?" She asked, her voice rising in pitch.

"No." And he could've gone on and on about her apparent strength of character. But he didn't, he felt like he was meeting a blind date for the first time (even though he'd never been on one). He didn't know Jennifer Shepard's strength (or lack of) in character, he barely knew anything about her. All he knew was that she was soft, warm, and when pressed against him was evoking responses he really didn't want her to become aware of.

He knew that right now, she looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here.

So he told her that.

She laughed, breathlessly, a full deep-bellied laugh, infectious, melodious laugh. _It felt good too laugh again..._

And answered when he asked once more, "contacts. I'm here to make contacts."

"Then you're in the wrong place," he retorted an air of mystery surrounding him.

I am," he jerked his chin over her shoulder, at the overweight, balding politicians behind them, "but I don't think they are the type of connections you want."

"What?!" She exclaimed in surprise. "You just said you were here to make contacts!"

"Yeah, but not _here_." He risked another glance at the windows. The sun was about to touch the horizon as they spoke...

He looked back at the demanding woman who was (somewhat) in his arms. Her emerald orbs telling him that she wasn't going to give up until he answered, and she was satisfied with the answer.

Hoisting himself up off the wall, his large palm wrapped around her delicate wrist. Dragging her behind him he took off towards the liquor table.

"Where are we going?"

"To make contacts," he threw back over his shoulder.

* * *

She was really trying to ignore the way his large fingers wrapped around her delicate wrist. His calloused fingertips pressing at just the right spot, she hoped he couldn't feel the way her heart was racing.

So what? She was physically attracted to the man. She could admit that much.

He snagged a bottle of..._(bourbon?) _off the alcohol table as they passed, and he kept going to the open balcony.

"I don't particularly liked being dragged forcefully," she complained loudly. Maybe he would have to stick around, if the press thought the Director of the FBI was kidnapping the Director of NCIS.

Speaking of kidnapping, where exactly was her security detail? Or his? Technically they shouldn't have even been allowed to move five feet without those men following them.

Then she remembered that he didn't look like the Director of the FBI. That it had taken her almost two hours too spot him herself. No one was going to see Director Gibbs dragging away Director Shepard.

They were just going to see Ms. Shepard following one of her security detail personnel.

She really hoped he didn't plan on killing her.

"Hush," he silenced her over his shoulder, "before I leave you at the mercy of these...pigs."

Against her better judgment, she silenced.

Looking briefly over her shoulder, just to make sure no one saw them, she took in the scene one last time. Now that she thought about it, if these slimy politicians had curly little pink tails...then they could figuratively and literally be pigs.

She snorted to derisively.

Stumbling slightly, she decided it might be a better idea to watch where she was being dragged too. Turning her eyes back around, she saw that the bottle of amber liquid was still clutched in Gibbs' hand, and that she was being towed to the large windows that opened out onto a balcony.

With one last furtitive glance around, she allowed him to pull her out of the crowded ballroom and out into the chilly autumn evening.

Jethro closed shut the glass doors behind them, and her heels clicked against the floor as he pulled her to the railing. Other than those sounds the silence of the darkening skies surrounded them.

Her head tilted back and she felt like she could finally breath.

Jethro's hand moved to hold hers.

Crickets chirped somewhere in the distance.

His large palm slid up her wrist engulfed her smaller one.

The red ball of fire that was the sun, sunk under the horizon.

Jethro's thumb rubbed small unconscious circles of the back of her hand.

Her pulse stuttered.

"Are you ready?"

* * *

Under the balcony, you could see the twinkling lights decorating the patio below them. The party was on both floors of the hotel, but the large glass doors on the first floor were shut. Leaving the small concrete patio empty except for a few drunken soles, doing deeds that Jenny preferred not to think about.

Beyond the square of concrete, was a dark expanse that-when the sun was up-would be a vibrant green of a grassy slope. But in the steadily darkening skies only made it look like a sea of black. A sea of black that tapered off into a sparse cope of trees that were at the bottom of the grassy knoll.

In between those hulking, looming columns that were the large oaks Jenny could see flashes of light. Movements interspersed with murmurs of sound that didn't come from the party going on behind them.

These murmurs of sound sounded like music, actual real music. Lyrics and everything, not the classical music playing at the Senator's party that everyone pretended to like but actually hated.

With the hand that wasn't being 'held' by his, Jenny gestured outwards. Down the intricate wound wrought-iron staircase, that led from the second floor balcony to the ground, and out across the sea of black.

"Does 'being ready' have to do with _that_?" Jenny asked indicating the lights in the distance, her voice no more than a whisper. A whisper seemed to fit the setting more than a yell, just like holding Mr. Gibbs' hand seemed to fit more than letting go and shuffling away awkwardly.

"Yep," Gibbs grunted and without further ado started to descended the winding staircase, pulling her along with him. They made it to about the third step down before Jenny decided not to tempt fate anymore, and tugged on Gibbs hand.

He was a step below her and had to tilt his head slightly to look at her over his shoulder. The flight of stairs were _that _steep and-.

"Slowdown," she rebuked. When he simply stared at her, she reached down with the hand that wasn't captured by his, to gather a handful of her flowing dress. She bunched up to above her knees, gesturing to her six-inch stilettoes.

-_and _her six-inch stilettoes.

Combined, none of that was actually conducive to traipsing down stairs.

With a nod of acceptance he turned around and continued. This time a bit slower, and all the time being prepared for a weight falling on his back when _Ms. Shepard _eventually caused them to fall and break their necks.

Needless to say, they made it down the stairs without any broken bones. And-ignoring the deeds that were being committed in behind their backs in the shadows of the stairwell-without looking back and wasting no time Gibbs started down the gently sloping hill. Jenny tripping and stumbling across the dewy grass beside him.

Wet blades of grass clung to their shoes as they made their way blindly across the lawn. Well-more like Gibbs strolled, and Jenny was the one following blindly.

As the ate up the distance between themselves and the copse of trees, Jenny wondered what she could possibly being getting herself into. After all, even if she was capable of protecting herself, she was out here alone. None of her security detail knew where she was-or that something was wrong _if _something _did _go wrong-and she didn't _fully _trust the man guiding her.

And could anyone blame her?

She didn't trust the FBI Director that dressed up as a security detail so that no one noticed him. This was a man that apparently prided himself on holding a prestigious position and yet staying invisible in the process.

If he was dragging her out here in some elaborate attempt on her-she _was _the Director of NCIS-she didn't carry anymore. And, Mr. Gibbs was a pretty well built man, she couldn't take him on hand-to-hand.

Her eyes stayed glued on the salt-n-pepper head that gently bobbed with his strides up ahead.

If he was dragging her out here in some elaborate scheme to kill her and ditch her body where no one would find her. No one would even know that he'd been here.

"You're burning holes in the back of my head. Relax and have a drink."

The unopened bottle of bourbon in the hand that wasn't holding hers, was thrust out behind him.

If he was going to murder her, it made sense that she might as well be drunk for it.

Snagging the bottle, the cap cut against her lips when she used her teeth to pop the top. Gripping the neck of the bottle, she eyed it in distain-scotch really was her poison of choice.

"Stop glaring at it, and just drink. It won't kill you," his voice rumbled out through the dark. It was...comforting. The deep, soothing sounds, now that she really gave herself a chance to listen, and blocked out the sounds of the lyrics they could just now make out. His voice pushed away the encroaching things of night, and wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

"Peer pressure much," she muttered. And-out of as much of a need to escape the feel of his hand and voice-as the 'peer pressure'. She tilted her head back and took a large swig of the amber liquid.

What felt like liquid acid _seared _down her throat.

Her reaction was immediate.

Yanking her hand out of his grasp blindly, coughing, spluttering, and still grasping that damn bottle she doubled over. Trying to breath in between her choking gasps, she vaguely heard Gibbs soft footfalls turning and coming back to her.

Gibbs took the bottle of bourbon from her, suspiciously he brought it up to his nose and sniffed. Nothing smelled off...except for the fact that the senator bought cheap liquor...

Realization dawned on him, chuckling he asked her, "How much did you drink?"

Quicker than he could react her slim arm came out and whacked him in the stomach.

"Ooof," Gibbs grunted.

"I bet you won't laugh next time, you bastard," she gasped out when she saw him doubled over also out of the corner of her watering eye.

Gibbs just silently nodded, his eyes tightly shut. She saw him shaking slightly, with pain or suppressed laughter she didn't know. Nor did she think he wanted her to know if he valued the area around his groin.

When she could finally breathe again without coughing up liquid fire. She eventually straightened herself out.

...Mr. Gibbs was still doubled over...shaking...

_'Did I break something...?'_ She wondered after a staring at him for a moment. She was hesitant as to what she should do...after all if one Director breaks another...Who do you report it too?

"...Gibbs?" She called too him softly, reaching down and placing a gentle hand on his trembling back.

On weak knees he straightened himself out, towering over her in the dark. He struggled to hide his twitching lips_..._

"...You bastard!" She screeched, and for good measure reached out and popped him a good one in stomach once more.

_'He had the nerve to laugh at her!' _

No one had laughed _at_ her in a longtime.

Against her will, she felt her cheeks heating up. It wouldn't have been so bad if he had chuckled a few times then left it at that. But instead he was downright, _unashamedly _laughing at her!

She prayed that their steadily darkening surroundings would keep him from noticing.

"Aw, there's no need to get embarrassed. It's an acquired taste."

Well that blew one hope to hell and back.

A feeling she hadn't felt in a while..._embarrassment _prickled at her and made her feel out of place. People-_usually_-respected the Director of NCIS enough _not _to laugh at her, or pretend they even noticed, if and when she did anything embarrassing.

In the...what-_thirty minutes?_-she'd seen this man face to face, she was starting to realize that he tended to defy the things she was used to.

Her eyelids fluttered and she felt like a kid getting rebuked by his parents. All shifty with restless feet, twisting hands, and eyes that were glued to the ground she tried her best too melt into the night and just disappear.

"Hey," he said in a more gentle voice, all traces of humor suddenly gone. A rough fingertip slid under her chin, and with a little prompting her tilted her face up to look at him.

"It's really okay," he reiterated looking her in the eye earnestly. Or at least...she _thought _he was looking her in the eye, it was kind of hard to tell with those stupid shades he had on.

Yeah, what was up with those? They were freaking outside..._at night._

He tapped her chin, reclaiming her attention to what he was saying.

"It _is _an acquired taste," he grunted, his voice dropping an octave.

The blush he could barely make out flushing her porcelain skin, caught his attention. And it took considerable restraint not run his fingers over her soft cheeks.

And the strange thing was, her mind was going there too. His little saying, that it's an acquired taste...seemed to somehow apply to more than one context...at least in _her _mind.

"Um-well, I-we're going to miss the party," murmured Gibbs.

"..Isn't the, uh-party, back there?" She rasped, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

"Yeah," his finger fell away from her chin and her rubbed roughly at his forehead. Turning away from her, and not looking back he used the hand that wasn't holding the uncapped bourbon to grab hers again.

They started off once more, him dragging her again.

"Just c'mon," he ordered.

* * *

It took a few incidents of stumbling over a few large tree roots that poked out of the ground for them to get where they were going.

And boy was she in for a shock.

The lyrics that had been jumbled sound, she was now able to make out. The lights that had just been an indistinct blur, she could make out being twinkling artificial lights strung up in the surrounding trees.

"Wow," she breathed.

"Yeah," Gibbs said in a totally unimpressed tone.

In this little clearing that was hidden from the main building, along with artificial lights and music coming from some unidentifiable place. There were people-at least fifty of them-people that were oh so different from the people in the party behind her.

These people-they weren't fat sweaty senators with trophy wives on their arms-she doubted the people she was looking at were politicians at all. Some of them...looked exotic, even from the tree line she could make out a few visible injuries on a few people, and yet everyone of them looked dangerous.

They all looked like-the men in their dark tuxes and the women in their body hugging dresses (instead of full skirted ball gowns) alike-were friends of Ziva. Sultry, dark, and dangerous she-a politician herself-stood on the sidelines with the other politician that had brought her here, and watched. Some of them danced to the mysterious pop music, some of them stood in pairs talking, some stood on the sidelines like herself, and yet-something she just happened to notice-everyone seemed to have a drink in their hand.

She was feeling some..._Dirty Dancing _deja vu. Though even in her slightly bourbon _tortured _mind, she didn't see Patrick Swayze back from the dead.

_...A loss on her part..._

A thought occurred to her just then. Something she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer too...

"Did all of these people get an invitation," she knew she sounded like a stuck up bitch asking that. But it stood to reason that if they had, then they wouldn't be out here in the cold of a DC night-unless they were gate crashing.

She looked at the figure standing beside her out of the corner of her eye, and she made a mental note that he looked far too at home here. While she was sure she stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Oh they did...just not in the way you or I did." Gibbs assured her, a smirk apparent in his voice.

"Okay then," she drawled, taking it all in stride.

"Why did you drag me out here?" Turning fully to him, she saw that his eyes were stuck on a figure in the small gathering but he answered her anyway.

"You said you wanted to make contacts. _Those_ people in there," he turned his head towards them and indicated the party behind them. "They aren't the type of contacts you want. _These_ people," he indicated the wide array of people in front of them.

"They are the type of contacts you _need_." His head swiveled back around to the figure he'd been staring at. Her eyes followed him, and she tried to ignore the twisting in her gut when she realized what...or _who _she was staring at.

On the edge of the makeshift dance floor stood a dark-haired, exotic beauty. And how could Jenny blame Mr. Gibbs for staring? This mysterious exotic beauty who wore a blood-red curve hugging dress...

Her gut twisted when she couldn't get his attention.

In a slight huff that she didn't want to admit too. She turned back to..._glare_, the good mood that she didn't want to admit to being in-because of..._him_, was officially gone.

Mr. Gibbs took a step forward towards the mysterious woman...

Yep, that good mood was _obliterated_.

Just when she was about to stop him and give him a piece of her mind. After all could anyone blame her for being a little bit offended for being dragged out here then, _left?_

He turned slightly, and an opened almost full bottle of bourbon was being thrust at her chest.

"Have a drink," he ordered as she caught the bottle, "and go dance or something."

He turned and continued, getting lost in the sea of people he fit so well into.

"No thanks Gibbs, pop music really isn't my type." She muttered in a bitter sarcastic fit to herself.

For a lack of anything else to do, she took a more moderated swig of the amber alcohol. The slight burn this time was relished, she turned in a different direction then the one Gibbs had disappeared too.

She took another _smaller _swig, and moved in the general direction of the 'dance floor'.

The politician that almost didn't seem like he wanted to be a politician had brought her here with advice on how _to be _a politician.

So that was exactly what she was going to do-_be _a politician.

* * *

_Lights flashed by in blurry streaks._

_She twisted._

_The lyrics of the music had long ago become indistinguishable. But that was actually okay, pop really wasn't her favorite._

_She spun._

_Some random unidentifiable person decided they were going to dance beside her._

_She bumped and grind in suggestive dance moves. _

_The Director of NCIS was dancing in the middle of a makeshift clearing party, in the dead of night. Doing moves she was barely aware of, and it was all because of an empty bottle of bourbon that had been abandoned somewhere in the grass._

_She was drunk, completely and utterly smashed._

_Mr. Gibbs had disappeared with that...skank, and since then she'd seen brief flashes of him in the crowd talking to different people. But as the amber liquid in the bottle he'd so graciously given her, had started dwindling she become less and less concerned for where he was. _

_At some point she'd been dragged (or maybe she went on her own) out onto the 'dance floor', and had started moving hesitantly. Yet, the hesitance along with the concern had completely disappeared the farther away from sobriety she became._

_Even if her body was deliciously numb and tingly, she felt when the hands that had been holding her hips from behind-vanished. _

_In her blurred-at-the-edges line of sight, Gibbs appeared. His silvery head of hair just one splotch of color, and for some reason (maybe it's because of the grim line of his face) she figured he was the cause of the vanishing hands._

_His form wobbled slightly-him or her she didn't know-and larger hands then the ones that had been holding her hips, clasped on her sides. Above her hips this time, his hands slid slightly against the silk of her dress._

_He pulled her to him, halting her dancing. Making her lie still against his chest, and this time (unlike in the ballroom)-even in her drunken state of mind-she was well aware of their physical positions._

_The dancing left her panting delicately on his neck. The scent of bourbon clung to her, and though it was most likely a major turnoff to most men. It made him want to ravish her..._

_And yet it was also evidential proof of what would keep him from acting on that-even in his...slightly less than sober mindset._

_"You're drunk," he accused._

_"So are you," she argued. She wasn't the only one that could smell alcohol. Though to be fair it could be coming from her..._

_"Barely," other people he wouldn't have bothered arguing this with. He was more powerful than most people, heck-he was technically more powerful than her._

_Still he didn't bother to tell her to mind her own business. He didn't bother to push her off on her security detail, and go find a woman he could leave with. A woman that-unlike her-was invisible to the rest of the world._

_He knew a lot of women like that, and still it was Ms. Shepard he was holding against his chest. It was Ms. Shepard whose delicate flush was transfixing him once more._

_It was Ms. Shepard he'd just met in person for the first time._

_It was Ms. Shepard who he had basically stood up._

_Grant it, he was slightly more confident that he might have a shot with her. She hadn't seemed too terribly mad that he'd stood her up. It might've had something too do with the shadow that had been hanging over her all night._

_Maybe that was why he'd brought her out here. She needed to loosen up some, and she couldn't do that with all the stuffy suits around. And she may hate him for it in the morning, when she was battling a hangover. But now, watching her twist and turn, her red hair glinting in the light and flying like a halo around her..._

_He was brought back to the present when he felt something lightly patting his chest. He looked down at the drunken woman whose hand was currently petting/patting right over his heart. She looked up at him with clouded eyes._

_"What are you thinking about?" She breathed._

_The corner of his mouth twitched, even if he wanted too he couldn't regret his decision to bring her here._

_"Nothing," he dismissed her. _

_She gazed up at him, concentrating on something...that made her look unbelievably cute. _

_...Yeah...maybe he had one glass too many..._

_"You?" Two could play at this game._

_"Take those damn shades off," she wanted too see his eyes...on blurry screens he could've had chocolate brown orbs for all she knew._

_She was betting he had brown eyes..._

_Surprisingly willing, he slid the glasses away from his face, and keeping his eyes hidden he folded them into the inner pocket of his jacket. In her mind it happened in slow motion when he turned to look at her..._

_An involuntary breath escaped her, because Mr. Gibbs-Gibbs...didn't have chocolate brown orbs._

_He was looking at her with the most piercing blue eyes she'd ever seen._

_Gibbs' warm hands slid to her back._

_He was holding her against him._

_She was drunk._

_He was inebriated._

_La Grenouille was haunting her dreams again._

_He'd held her hand._

_Her pulse had stuttered._

_She barely knew him._

_"Kiss me."_

_A sparkle brightened the set of sapphires that seemed to pierce her soul. And without thinking-on either of their parts-the distance between their lips closed._

_She decided right then and there, that she loved his eyes-and his lips._

* * *

She didn't know how they got out of the clearing.

Or how they'd gotten into a limo. She thought, maybe it was hers. It was most likely hers, considering Gibbs' seeming determination to deny the fact that he could utilize the benefits of being a director he most likely didn't come in a limo.

She hoped it was hers, and that it was her security detail driving it...

Gibbs gave an address, and she didn't take the time to ask if they were headed to a hotel or his house. She only took the time to make sure the privacy glass was erected. Before loosening the bowtie around his neck.

He let her.

She didn't know if the press had caught their drunken stumble across the lawn. She didn't know how many senators were currently gloating in the victory of their newfound blackmail knowledge.

She didn't know where Ducky was. Or how he was going to get home.

His tongue took possession of her mouth.

_'Who was Ducky?'_

After what seemed to be five minutes in her mind, the limo pulled to a halt. And without waiting to traumatize a well meaning chauffeur by letting them open their door, Gibbs had the presence of mind to grasp for a door handle.

They tumbled out, and he was sure they were a sight. Her, already with mussed and sweaty hair, and missing an earring. Him, with his bowtie undone, his jacket hanging off one shoulder, and his shirt halfway unbuttoned...

She felt him pulling her along, she stumbled on the hem of her dress because of her heels. And she was sure there would be one great long rip in it in the morning.

In the portion of her mind that still cared about her public image, she was mildly concerned about where they were at. But she didn't think she could-she didn't _want _to pull away from the mind-numbing feeling of his mouth on hers to see about something so..._trivial_.

She pushed him back against something solid, a door? A wall? For all she knew they could be about to have sex against the wall of some abandoned building.

Noises that signaled fumbling, and Gibbs pulled a hand away from her curves. She heard a click, and the resistance against his back gave away.

Scratch the abandoned building theory, it was safe to assume they were at his house. Though she didn't know where he lived...for all she knew he could've been her next door neighbor.

There was a buzzing in her ears, and next thing she knew she was being pushed down. Her back hit cushions.

Yeah, she didn't really care where the hell they were...as long as he got this dress off of her in the next thirty seconds...

* * *

They tripped through the doorway, and he briefly considered trying the stairs.

She could barely walk as it was, and he wasn't all too steady on his feet either. And, she-well...was currently in the process of divesting him completely of his bowtie and jacket.

The couch was closer.

He guided her around the coffee table, their mouths were still locked at the lips. And he wondered if the burning in his lungs meant he was forgetting to breathe...

But her tongue was gliding against his, and there were still corners of her mouth he'd yet to explore...

Blindly, they fell against the couch. He was pretty sure that the back of her head had hit the arm of the couch, but she didn't seem to care.

He found his thigh wedged in between her legs, on the fabric of her dress. Using extreme willpower, he ripped his lips away from hers. Gasping in lungs full of fresh air, he opened his eyes.

Their she was, spread out under him. Her red hair thrown against the brown of his one single throw pillow, her skin flushed a more brilliant pink than the embarrassment, dancing, or alcohol had managed. Her painted red lips, were beautifully swollen, and her smoky eyes were tightly shut.

"Mmmmmm," she moaned, if it was because of the lack of contact-he didn't know.

One arm went up over his head and clutched at the sofa over her head. Maybe he was more than a little drunk because he swore the sight of her white knuckled fingers were the sexiest thing in the world.

_'But what the hell is getting her off? I haven't even touched her?!'_

Then he felt the rocking against his thigh.

Apparently while he was busy pondering life's problems like an idiot, she'd been rubbing against him. Not so much against his will, he grinned. From the looks of it she was _this _close to her release.

He shifted his leg away from her.

"Mmmmmm," this time it was a frustrated groan. He watched as her eyes popped open, and hands clutched at _his _hips. His hips were pulled tightly against hers, and he had to catch himself with his hands on either side of her head.

"You bastard," she hissed, they were nose-to-nose. How many times had she'd called him a bastard since they'd known each other? "Don't tease me."

"No foreplay?" He asked innocently.

"We're drunk. We don't have to have foreplay."

"Yes ma'am," he'd hate to be under her command at work.

Well...not if she was giving orders like this...

Enough pondering, his lips smashed against hers. And without any fanfare his tongue re-took possession of her mouth. Her hands went to clutch at his shoulders, and his mauled her covered breasts.

Her legs detangled themselves from the mess of her dress, and wrapped themselves around his waist. His hands glided down her body, to the point where she obviously wanted him. Hitching her dress around her waist, he couldn't help but moan into her mouth at the feeling of her smooth inner thighs.

He considered-for a moment-at least taking the time to take off her dress completely. But then one of her hands moved to clutch his hair, and she whimpered in need.

Her hips rocking against his, and all thoughts off dragging this out left his mind totally. Under her dress, he felt the thin straps of a thong. He was betting it was red, she seemed like a red type of woman...

To slide it off her legs meant to unwrap her legs from around his waist, and that wasn't something he really wanted to do. He sent up a half-meant prayer to whatever deity that had decided to cut him some slack for once and put him in this position, that she wouldn't mind the ripping of her underwear.

The tattered remains of lace landed on the floor of his living room.

It was then he realized he was missing something.

Her little white teeth were biting down on his bottom lip, and one of her small hands were fumbling at his belt buckle. He had a beautiful woman wrapped around him and yet...

His pants were slid down by her, the gun holster on his belt made them pool around his ankles. Only his plain black boxers and a certain missing..._action _stood in their way.

A warm hand tried to worm it's way under the waistband.

He stopped her.

Clutching her wrist, he pulled back from her lips. Her grip tugging his hair slightly, and he waited until her eyes fluttered open to look at him. She blinked at him owlishly, her head cocked to the side.

With the serious way he was looking at her, she half expected him to admit he was a virgin or something.

"I can't-," he looked like he was concentrating on something, "dammit I can't-I can't...get _it_ up."

For a moment she was about to ask _what _he couldn't get up.

Then-it hit her.

Oh somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized it was mean. But without thinking she burst out..._giggling._

Even in her drunk state of mind she tried to stifle her laughter, her face even turned beet red with the force of efforts. Only problem was, what she was trying to stifle her laughter in-was...Gibbs' shoulder...

"It's not funny!" He exclaimed.

"Sure it is," she couldn't help it..., "you _are_ an old man!"

He pulled back from her, sitting on his knees he was sure he looked ridiculous. His..._manhood _was twitching, and throbbing, but no matter how much he wanted it too...

He couldn't get it up.

He really wish he hadn't drunk that extra shot of bourbon.

Still she had the decency to look slightly abashed, she squirmed under his intent gaze. But he didn't say anything more, after a second of silence she couldn't help another giggle.

"I'll show you old man," he muttered.

Her arm was back over her head and she was trying to muffle her laugher in the relaxed arm. He moved the fabric of her dress back out of the way, and without checking if she was ready for him or not he slid a finger into her.

Her relaxed arm tightened and she slid white knuckles to knot in her hair, the other formed a claw on the side of the couch. Her breathing hitched, and this time instead of muffling laughter-it was a moan of shock and pleasure.

He didn't give her time to adjust, she was already warm and slick. But her warmth and wetness intensified when he stretched her farther with a second finger.

"Oh," her back arched off the cushions when his next thrust was at a quite pleasurable angle.

Sweat beaded on her forehead, and he wanted her naked. He wanted her naked so he could see if that flush was on every part of her body and not just her face and neck.

"Harder," she begged. Speeding up a bit he waited for his 'little friend' to hopefully make an appearance, yet in the meantime he might as well get _her _off...

He added a third finger, and curled his fingers to hit that spot that was _just _right. Her hips started snapping up uncontrollably, and her eyes seemed to fight the need to close.

He twisted his entire hand.

He could literally feel her walls tightening around him.

His thumb found her clit.

And she broke.

* * *

He went through the ground floor of his house, making sure lights were off, but in all fairness just delaying the inevitable.

Directly above him, a redheaded woman lay a in rarely used bed. And yet he was standing in his living room, staring out the window over his couch at the limo still parked on the street.

Her security detail would be staying the night, and when his found them. _Two _security details would be staying the night.

His grandfather clock struck midnight.

It was midnight, he had a sleeping warm woman in his bed. And yet, he was standing here debating if he was going to spend the night in the basement.

It would make things easier, wouldn't it? If he was in the basement come morning.

Or would it just make things easier for himself in the morning?

Headlights flashed as a car turned down the street. And he made his decision.

He could've turned around and headed down into the basement to get even more smashed. But instead he made his way into his foyer, turning to the stairs. Just as he was about to mount the first step, he remembered something.

Turning, with quick strides he made his way back to his front door. He paused for a moment, feeling as if he were on the verge of something monumental while he glared at the simple doorknob.

In one decisive move he locked the door.

Not giving himself time to ponder on just what that action meant, he made his way up the stairs. He was exceptionally cautious as he made his way down the hallway to his bedroom. He doubted he would wake...Ms. Shepard, but he didn't want to take the chance.

He paused in his doorway, and before entering he took the time to slide his shoes off. On stocking feet he entered his room.

Just like the sun did during the day, the moon shone as equally brightly through his bedroom window on the woman laying on top of his covers. He let her be for the moment instead he made his way across the room into his en-suite bathroom.

Softly he shut the door behind him, and flicked the light on. Standing in front of his old bathroom mirror, he took in his ragged appearance.

He looked as if he'd just had a tumble in bed, instead of a...half...sort-of...tumble on the couch.

A world-weary sigh, with deft fingers he undid his cufflinks. Then moved onto the three or four buttons that were still miraculously done. His bowtie, jacket, belt, and holster were somewhere in the living room, along with Ms. Shepard's thong. Before climbing the stairs with a drowsy redhead in his arms, he'd pulled his pants back up.

Now he undid the zipper, his socks along with his pants and shirt littered the tiles of his bathroom floor.

Dressed only in his boxers, he flicked the light off, and opened the door again. Going by the light of the moon, he padded softly across his room, over to his closet.

After a moment of hesitation, he took one of his old FBI shirts off a hanger, and made his way over to the side of the bed he had laid Ms. Shepard on. Making sure not to wake her he sat down on the edge of the bed, and thought about what he was going to do for a moment.

He wasn't going to do anything creepy, at least-he didn't think it was creepy. He just didn't think she would necessarily find it comfortable to sleep in that dress and heels.

She was lying on her back, and in one smooth maneuver he got her to where she was sitting propped up against the few pillows he had on his bed. Her dress was still hitched around her waist, and after exploring the back and sides for a zipper or a line of buttons. He simply gathered the material of her dress in his hands, and started to pull it up over her body.

He'd reached the underside of her breasts before she stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering as she came a bit more into consciousness.

"Arms up," he prompted. She complied, and he finished sliding the dress over her head and arms. After a moment of deliberation he tossed it across the room so that it landed in his simple chair in the corner of the room.

He had to hold back a laugh at the way her arms fell limply back to her sides, the way she looked at him. It was as if she were a sleepy, pouting four year old instead of a forty something year old.

Though the fact the only thing she was still dressed in was silver four inch heels, one hoop earring, and a minimal scrap of a bra. It kind of..._thankfully_ ruined that image...

He deliberated on whether or not to take off her bra, on one hand it seemed kind of creepy to go and take her bra off. But considering her thong was ripped on the living room floor courtesy of him, he figured taking off one more piece of clothing wouldn't be so bad.

For the first time tonight, he was glad he was drunk. Otherwise the sight of her in her lingerie would be so arousing, he didn't think he would be able to keep from waking her up to take her properly.

He snatched up the shirt he'd gotten out of the closet, and bunched it up again. Her bra had joined the dress in the chair, and now it was time to try and _re_-dress her.

"Arms up," he said again. She groaned in annoyance at being disturbed, but raised her arms slightly in compliance.

The old, soft cotton, T-shirt reached her knees. And he could already see goosebumps appearing on her arms and legs from the lack of warmth in his house. Quickly, he flicked off her other earring and tossed it into the chair with the rest of her stuff, and moved down to her feet. Fingering the delicate straps on her shoes, it took a second for him to fumble the clasps off on both.

They joined her other things in the chair.

Standing up, he reached down and scooped her up in an awkward embrace with one arm. While the other pulled the covers backs, laying her down he covered her up again.

In a hazy mindset she turned on her side and snuggled the pillow that was suppose to be his.

"Oh no you don't," he murmured. Walking over to his side of the bed he slid under the covers himself, "scoot," he ordered.

"Go to hell," she muttered.

He smirked, and yanked a section of the pillow for himself. Their faces were inches apart, and yet he didn't feel the need to throw an arm around her. She didn't try to initiate it, and therefore neither of them had to endure the awkward first-time post-coital cuddling. He watched in amazement as her soft breathing started to even out.

He tried to fight the urge to fall asleep himself.

"I wanna take you to dinner," he commented casually.

"M'kay," she agreed sleepily.

"Night Jenny."

"Hmmm."

For the first time, in a long time. He fell into a dreamless sleep. His last thought was that he hoped she remembered this in the morning.

* * *

_A/N: So the first half of this and the last little part has been spellchecked. But the rest of it-not so much. I'm replacing the first few chapters with some minimal switches but other than that. Later when I throw up the next chapter I'll replace this one with some changes. Sorry but I figured it gives me some incentive to update sooner. _

_Oh yea and I have a Polyvore account and I've been making little sets for each of the chapters. So if any of you are interested in that let me know in the reviews and I can get it posted in a link somewhere. I'd let you know in the chapter_


	4. It's My Birthday

_a/n: Well, I figured it was about time I got my butt up and moving. Sorry it's taken me so long to even get up and write it. But I kinda went through this 'phase' where I couldn't stand NCIS for a while considering all the drama going on with fans about Tony/Ziva/Cote leaving. To me NCIS is suppose to be about Leroy Jethro Gibbs! Guess that's just my opinion though...so..._

_DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN NCIS_

* * *

It was the rays of sunlight that woke her up.

Or should she say, it was the rays of boiling fire, that made her pull the unfamiliar covers up over her head. And in the process of blocking out what was fueling the sickening pounding of her head, she realized something...

The cover she was holding wasn't her satiny duvet...

The bed she was in didn't have her silk sheets...

_'Okay, calm down,' _she told herself. Although she was still almost completely and utterly out of it, she tried to take stock of her 'situation'. Her head (although she was still under the blanket) was pounding out a furious rhythm, her tongue tasted furry and cottony, her eyes felt like they were glued shut, and her stomach was churning uneasily.

Even in her state, she could tell she had a hangover.

And she must've drank _a lot _last night to get this way. Considering if the signs were anything to go by, this was going to be a hangover the likes of which she hadn't seen since college.

Oh dear lord...how much _had _she drunk last night? Or better yet...where had she gone to get so thoroughly drunk? Call it some left over instinct from her time as an agent that her stint behind a desk hadn't been able to wipeout, but it took a good amount of Scotch to get her so drunk as to make her forget where she was and where she had been.

_'Maybe it's not as bad as it seems. I probably just went...a little overboard in the study last night, and Noemi simply made up the couch for me...,' _her overly optimistic mind supplied an explanation for her. If that were it, all she'd need to do is most likely roll over once to her right, and she ought to land on the Persian rug in front of the fire place in her study.

And if she landed just right, hopefully she could use that as a springboard to haul ass to her nearest bathroom. Because her stomach was about to violent rebel against her.

So with a not so deep breath, she rolled slightly to her right. Imagine her surprise when she only felt more of the soft surface she was laying on, instead of the tangle of sheets and the cold of the hardwood like she'd expected.

In her new position she was laying on her stomach, and before she freaked out she took a moment to groan softly. Because, _yes_, her hangover was _that _bad. To the point of which she was half-tempted to lay wherever she was, and just go back to sleep.

After all, she was comfortable, and she wasn't dead yet so if she wasn't in her own home. Wherever she was couldn't be _that _bad. Closing her eyes she was _this close _to drifting off again with the last sleepy thought being, _'SecNav would understand'._

That thought was enough to make her throw off the covers and sit-up straight. Because she wasn't just an agent anymore, she was the first woman Director of an Armed Federal Agency who had only been in her position for a year, and was still getting criticized.

And looking around she'd realized she had woken up in a strange bedroom.

Alone.

Looking around she took in the simple king-sized bed she was lying in alone. The beautiful-what looked to be handcrafted-chest of drawers in the corner. And the stained glass window in which early morning November sunlight shined through.

It would've been a beautiful sight, if looking at it hadn't made her head pound even harder, and her stomach heave.

Shielding her eyes with one hand, she did her best at scanning the rest of the room. To her right she could make out the vague form of what looked to be a chair, and in it the blurry outline of might've been a dark pile of clothes. Turning to her right she saw the form of nightstand, on it sat an alarm clock and something else.

Completely ignoring the 'something else', squinting and with her heart pounding in her chest-she tried to make out the red blur of numbers.

When she was finally able to, she breathed out a sigh of relief.

It wasn't as late as she had thought it was-only 7:15 a.m.. Grant it, that was later than she was usually in-normally she was in her office at 6:30 on the dot. But Cynthia wouldn't send the cavalry out after her until at least 8:00.

Yet, she was in a strange bedroom. In someone else's house-alone, and didn't remember a thing from last night. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to wait until the cavalry was sent.

Just then her stomach gave another lurch, and she thought, _'To hell with it'_. Whoever it was she'd gone home with last night (and she resolutely ignored the brief flash of shame at the fact that she couldn't remember who it was), had clearly consented to bringing her home and knew she was there. So it didn't matter where they'd gone, she was going to find a bathroom before she heaved all over herself. Then maybe she would sneak out to her...

Security detail.

Thank god for the four gun wielding men who were tasked to protect her at all times. If she could just sneak out of here without the man knowing she'd gone, then she would bet a thousand bucks her security detail would be waiting at the street for her.

She was all for putting this plan in action, even going so far as to throw the covers off and swing her feet off the bed. Until she realized something-in her blurry and swinging world she'd made out the word _Jenny_.

Turns out that 'something else' she'd seen on the nightstand, was a folded white sheet of paper with her name written across the front.

Without thinking about the potential consequences of her actions, before she knew it-she'd already reached across and grabbed the offending sheet of paper and opened it. Years later it would cross her mind that the letter could've been any number of things; blackmail, anthrax, or hell even the damn _plague_.

But none of those things jumped out at her. Instead her eyes were greeted with the same pointy scrawl-the same that had written her name across the front.

_I'm not going to apologize for the fact that you woke up alone (I have this rule against apologies). But the only reason I'm not there is because there was a 'national crisis' at work that they had to call me in for. And I snuck out because I didn't want to wake you. You're welcome to help yourself to anything in the house, there isn't much in the kitchen, but feel free to use the shower or whatever._

_Oh, and I'll call later to collect on that dinner you owe me. That should be a pretty interesting conversation. Considering I'm about 90% sure you don't remember my name or what happened last night._

_By the way, that door right in front of you is the bathroom._

She didn't have time to ponder the words she'd just read. Jerking to her feet, she stumbled across the room and threw open the described door, and tossed herself down in front of the porcelain bowl.

Dammit, she must've drank on an empty stomach.

Minutes later-or maybe it was years?-she was finally able to stand up. Slowly, on shaky legs she steadied herself, as it _all _came running back.

_The Senator's ball._

_Ducky._

_Bourbon._

_Dangerous people dancing in a clearing._

_More bourbon._

_Contacts._

_Too much bourbon._

_"Kiss me."_

_Warm lips on hers._

_Fingers hitting just right._

_And blue eyes._

She could see her reflection in the large mirror that hung on the far wall over the double sinks. And in it she could tell she wasn't in the ball gown she'd worn last night nor-by the feel of things-the fine lingerie either. The only thing she was wearing was an old F.B.I t-shirt that reached to her knees. Someone had put her in bed and undressed her, then redressed her again.

_Blue eyes. The bluest eyes she'd ever seen._

Under her reflection sat three things; a fresh glass of water, a bottle of aspirin, and a familiar pair of shades.

The Bastard.

* * *

At 8:00 a.m. on the dot, Jennifer Shepard was walking into her office.

After swallowing down the pills that had been mocking her along with a capsule of aspirin. Without a moment of hesitation Jenny had stripped off the nightshirt she'd been put in, hunted around for a towel (unsurprisingly The Bastard's towels had been thin and sandpaper(ish)), and hopped into the proffered shower.

And after a hurried five minute hot shower to try and wash off the layers of _'ugh' _that had seemed to be coating her. She'd hurriedly wrapped the towel around her wet body, and before going back out into his bedroom-grabbed the shades that had been laying out on the counter-mocking her.

But any thoughts of resentment towards the man who had left them there, faded upon being faced with the sunlight shining through the windows. Looking around, with slightly better vision-considering the aspirin had started to kick in, she managed to make out that the clothes in the chair across the room were those that she'd worn last night.

Digging through what had been in the pile, she realized she was missing some things. She had one earring, her dress, miraculously both shoes, and her bra.

No panties.

She couldn't exactly go out to greet her security detail that way, could she?

So in a decisive move, she'd crossed the room and thrown open the only other door in the room-the door that opened the closet. And boy, did The Bastard have one helluva closet!

Bigger than her own one, back at her Georgetown townhouse, his was what looked to be an oak (or maybe it was pine?-could've been cedar) walk-in-closet.

And yet, he barely used any of it. From what she could see, the pair of Wingtips she remembered seeing him wearing last night, and one pair of loafers stood alone in the midst of a couple of sets of running shoes and even more pairs of generic heavy-duty work boots.

His shoes were enough to make her gape, but his wardrobe made her want to scream at the blatant disrespect for such an amazing closet. It looked like the tuxedo she'd seen him in last night was the only one he owned, she counted three long-sleeved dress shirts; white, black, and a dark blue, two suit jackets, one pair of nice slacks. Along with those she counted four polo shirts; black, gray, brown, and again a dark blue one, and the rest of his closet was made up of jeans, ratty old t-shirts, and a few hoodies jackets and sweatshirts.

All-in-all the entirety of his wardrobe took up maybe a third of his closet.

She sighed, men (or maybe it was this particular _man_?) so did not appreciate the finer aspects of life.

Without looking she reached towards the section of his closet that seemed to be devoted to tops, and grabbing something randomly she pulled out a red hoodie. Slipping that on, she moved over to the dresser, and after a through search of his drawers-she found that Gibbs was a boxers man-and finally she managed to find a pair of sweatpants.

She'd gone out to greet her security detail with wet hair, no makeup, in an oversized red hoodie that swamped her, and a pair of sweatpants that had to be rolled up four times to keep her from tripping. With her-surprisingly-not ruined dress over one arm, shoes dangling by her fingertips, her one earring clutched in her fist, and her still intact bra expertly hidden from sight. She hadn't been able to find her underwear, and-as much as she may have wanted to-she didn't have time to go around and search his house for the little scrap of lace.

Eventually she gave up and decide it would be a nice little surprise for him. Or a lesson not to bring home women he barely knew...

Luckily enough, the agents on her detail were polite and discreet, and each of them were married so they knew better than to mess with a woman.

They'd taken her home, and-as a personal record-she'd managed to change into the outfit she was wearing now; a green silk long-sleeve shirt, black skirt, black blazer, and emerald earrings, with velvet green pumps. Tamed her hair, and put on a light smattering of makeup-all in under twenty minutes.

Now, here she was walking past Cynthia's desk-8:00 a.m. on the dot. Her borrowed shades were firmly in place, and already was she glad for how darkly tinted they were. Not only did they help to block out the light that threatened to exasperate her current state, but they also helped her to pretend she could ignore the suspicious looks she was getting.

"Director-," Cynthia started, rising from her desk with a concerned look on her face. Jenny cut her off before she could ask with a curt order, "cancel all my meetings today. I don't want to be disturbed."

She quickened her pace slightly and sighed when she finally shut her office door, blocking out Cynthia's abashed face. If her head hadn't been pounding out a steady rhythm of _'another aspirin' 'another aspirin'_, then she would've taken the time to be less _rude_.

She would have to remember to apologize later.

But for now...

Pushing off from her position of leaning against her office door-locking the door behind her. She relaxed fractionally (now that she was away from prying eyes), and stumbled her way to the bay window on the other side of her office-dropping off her briefcase by her desk. Typically, she loved her window. The view _was _spectacular, but today all she could think about as she shut the blinds-was when did the sun get so damn bright?

Once that was taken care of-her next stop was to the drinks cabinet standing in the corner of the room. But instead of going for the Scotch in the glass cabinets, she reached under the sideboard and into the wooden cabinets.

What she pulled out was a miniature percolator, a can of coffee grounds, and her one chipped mug that she kept in the office. Going through the motions that she knew so well, felt like a comforting ritual. And once she had the steady _drip-drip drip-drip _echoing through the silent room, she sunk down into the leather chair she loved so much.

After grabbing the bottle of aspirin she kept in the top drawer of her desk, and swallowing three or four capsules. She cursed how long the coffee was taking, and deliberated on what she was going to do today...

There was one thing she knew, until it was a decent time to go home-there was no way in hell she was leaving her office today. Not when she could barely stand to be in a dimmed room without shades on, and her stomach was still churning.

She was just glad that she'd gotten out of the Marine Corps Ball today.

_The Ball._

"Oh dear god," she whispered in horror. In all the craziness of waking up alone this morning, or in fact waking up in _someone_ _else's bed_. Nevertheless FBI Director Leroy Jethro Gibbs' bed.

In all that chaotic mess, she'd forgotten about their drunken stroll across the lawn. Or the fact that she couldn't remember if anyone had seen them.

The press, there's _always _people who see.

Yeah, today she wouldn't be leaving her office. She would stay locked up in her room atop the tower, nursing a hangover and doing what she of damage control.

It was going to be a _long _day.

* * *

Surprisingly, for the first time in the past _month_-maybe _year_, the emergency that had called Director Gibbs into the office so early-was _not _about the _leak_. Or whatever you wanted to call the fact that it was slowly becoming obvious that the FBI was corrupt.

Whatever way you wanted to put it, at 4:30 a.m. he'd been called into his office by his scared assistant/office receptionist. Pulling him out of a very rare-for him-_good _sleep in an actual bed, not to mention a bed that had a very _warm_, very _soft_, and very _naked _woman.

Unbidden the corner of his lips twitched into a semi-smile at the thought of what said woman's reaction would be when she woke up. He would bet at least a fifty on the fact that waking up with the epic hangover she was bound to have would piss her off more than waking up alone.

Without trying to hide or at least be discreet about what he was doing, he ignored propriety and checked his obnoxiously orange watch.

0800-_8:00 a.m._-he really did need to break the habit of military time-most of the agents in the FBI didn't know it. Anyway-either way he put it-if she wasn't up in her office by this time then surely someone from NCIS was trying to hunt her down by now.

For the sake of avoiding castration, he _really _hoped that wasn't the case.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder if she would remember anything. Considering the amount of bourbon she'd consumed last night-he'd given her a full bottle last night and couldn't find it when he came back for her-he doubted she would remember _yesterday_.

Much less whose bed she was waking up in.

Maybe he should've signed his name on the letter...

He was dubious about whether or not she would search his house. Though if she did it wouldn't really matter-it wasn't as if he had anything valuable, and the one room he did care about besides the basement-he kept locked. But as a last minute..._thought_-he'd been about to walk out of the door when had hit him-he had gone back upstairs and sat three things he was almost positive she would appreciate-in a room he was almost positive she would need.

After all, her first bourbon induced hangover...that was going to keep her feeling down until _at least _her fifth cup of coffee.

Hell, he'd been drinking bourbon for longer than he could remember, and yet his own head was still pounding sickeningly.

As if his own slight hangover was mocking him, the pounding increased. And in response he took another sip of the bitter Jamaican blend, he remembered some stuttering Probie handing to him earlier.

_'Hmmmmm,' _the only reason he was still sitting through this godforsaken meeting-was because of the coffee. If it weren't for the bitter black brew, then he would've simply shut up the bickering idiots with a final order-regardless if it was fair or not hours ago. Then he would've gone back home, snuck back in bed, and then-at a reasonable hour-he would've done all he could to make sure Ms. Shepard's-_Jenny's_-morning was sufficiently awkward enough.

He was a little disappointed that he would get to miss out on _that _experience. Especially considering the 'little friend' he'd been greeted with this morning. But, since cursing his own body for making an appearance at the _wrong moment_. The thing he had settled on looking forward to was the promise of a dinner with her.

And he definitely was not going to make the mistake of not collecting twice.

* * *

_Six _cups of bitter coffee (sans any of her usual sweeteners) later, and Jenny was back to feeling some semblance of normal. Around the third cup her nausea had subsided, and maybe around the fifth cups or so the pounding in her head had finally downgraded to something akin to a dull throb.

Something she was eternally grateful for when she heard the buzzing that indicated the use of the intercom that sat on her desk.

"Director...," Cynthia's hesitant voice filtered through, and Jenny resolutely pushed away the remaining guilt when she replied in a calm voice, "yes Cynthia?"

"I'm very sorry about this, I know you said you didn't wish to be disturbed. But Agent DiNozzo is out here, and he's been insisting on seeing you. I've tried to get him to go away, but he just won't leave-"

Cynthia's voice was rising in pitch from the annoyance she no doubt felt from Agent DiNozzo, and Jenny couldn't help but sympathize with her. Though her assistant was formidable when she wanted to be, to the point where she could usually handle anything the agents or politicians that came to visit her, had to throw at her on a _good_ day. Jenny knew her little snap earlier hadn't exactly put the poor girl in a confident state of mind.

Still...what could DiNozzo _possibly _want with her today? As far she knew MCRT didn't have any major publicity cases, or one's that needed heavy favors. So what could he possibly need?

She had to admit-she was a little curious.

Leaning across her desk, she held down the button that would allow her to respond, "give me five minutes. Then send him in."

"Yes, ma'am."

Satisfied that that was handled, Jenny set about putting her five minutes to good use. If Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, an agent who didn't seem to have _any _respect for privacy, was coming into her office-then she needed to hide things. And _quick._

While she straightened up the pile of _official _case files she _should've _been working on. She let her mind wander over what pissing match she was mostly likely about to be put in the middle of. As far she knew...there weren't any outstanding arguments involving the FBI...

Of course, if you don't count the everlasting one between DiNozzo and Fornell.

Or...the one between herself...and 'The Bastard'.

Though, if the flashes she was getting back from last night where anything to go by. Then they were...on a _whole _different playing field of arguments now.

Last night.

As she swept the case file that wasn't a part of the official stack-it was more for her own personal perusing-into the bottom drawer of her desk, and locked it behind her. A thought hit her-

For the first hour or so after coming into work this morning. She had sat at her computer, and scanned _every _gossip website she could find. Every; gossip website, regular news website, social media circle, she'd even turned on the TV for a brief period of time to see if _Mrs. Sterling _was giving another smug report.

But she could've missed something...Something-_anything _could have slipped through the cracks; pictures, a witness, or hell-even a video.

She wouldn't put it past DiNozzo to find something and come to rub it in her face.

Hearing the jingle of keys in her door, she remembered one last thing-the shades she was still wearing. Plucking them off, she managed to drop them in her open briefcase by her feet-_right _as her door swung open.

"That didn't seem like five minutes," Jenny said curtly, glancing up and looking up at the agent standing in her doorway. Rearranging her features accordingly, she tried to ignore the sickening feeling in her stomach. She was a female politician, in a new position of power...

She could _not_ afford a sex scandal.

Anthony DiNozzo's tanned face leaned around the door, and jangled a set of keys. With a blindingly white smile he said, "Cynthia couldn't keep the keys away from me any longer."

With a half shrug, he tossed the keys behind him-to Cynthia she hoped. And without waiting for an invitation, he loped inside-shutting the door softly behind him.

This wasn't the Special Agent DiNozzo she knew, this was the Special Agent she'd only heard about by reputation. This Special Agent wasn't the one who resented her for some unknown reason (maybe it was because she was a woman?). No, this was the charming, college frat boy, playboy she'd only ever heard about.

With those thoughts, her reasoning for this meeting changed. If he was here to blackmail her with a 'shady' gossip magazine article...then he would most likely be smug. Instead he was trying to charm her...he wanted something from her.

_'Oh DiNozzo,' _she thought with a slight bit of fondness, _'if only you were about ten years older'_.

Scratch that-if only she were about ten years _younger_. _Then_ she might've been willing to become another name in the long list of women charmed by Anthony DiNozzo.

"Take a seat DiNozzo," she said, gesturing towards one of the chairs seated in front of her desk. While he politely took her up on her offer, she moved over to the coffee machine that she hadn't allowed to stop all day.

"Coffee?" She offered while she made her seventh cup for the morning, without the shades on even the dim lighting was a little too much for her eyes.

"No thank you," he declined. Shrugging, more for her anyway, she ambled back slowly to her desk chair. Listening idly with one ear to the ramblings of DiNozzo, and blowing softly in her steaming coffee-she waited until she was situated before she cut him off.

"Cut the crap DiNozzo," stopped in the midst of one of the infamous movie references she had never before witnessed. Tony looked shocked for a moment-his mouth hanging open slightly, before he pulled himself together.

"Cynthia asked me to remind you about the press statement you were suppose to give for the Marine Corps Ball tonight." Tony said in his normal tone, all charm aside. Nodding sagely, she leant forward on her elbows, out of the corner of her eye she checked the time on her computer.

It was noon, now.

_'Where did the time go?' _The last thing she remembered was shutting off her TV around 10:00 a.m. _('1000 hours,' _she reminded herself, _'military time')_, and opening up that file that was currently locked in her office drawer. The next thing she knew...Cynthia was buzzing her.

The press release was scheduled for..._1500 hours._

There was no way in hell, not when she could barely stand her darkened office, she was about to stand in front of a bunch of screaming people with flashing cameras.

She could think about that later though, for now she took a deep calming breath and continued in her effort to figure out exactly _what _DiNozzo wanted. "Okay, now that you've told me what _Cynthia _wanted you to. Why don't you tell me why you're here-emphasis on _you're_-before I kick you out of my office."

"Alright then," DiNozzo breathed, "straight to the point".

Jenny tilted her head in a 'get on with it' gesture, and-flustered-DiNozzo started to babble. "I-more like we-the team 'we', not the universal _we_. _We _need a favor, we got a case today-you'll get the file for it by the end of the week-and the victim is religious. And we need an autopsy to determine the cause of death-since there's no obvious cause of death, but Ducky's refusing to do the autopsy. Not without the consent of the relatives, and they won't give consent because of their religion. Trust me-we've tried to get it. And I was just going to go behind their back-for the sake of justice-but I Ducky refuses to budge. And I don't won't to fight with him, but I don't want to get him in trouble either."

Once the last word was out of his mouth, Tony drew in what had to be his only breath during his entire explanation. Before he could start up again, Jenny raised a hand to stop him and couldn't help but chuckle, "Wow, DiNozzo. That's a bunch of _'and's' _and _'but's'_."

This time Tony's smile wasn't his patented 1,000 mega watt beaming smile. But a sheepish grin of man who just now seemed to be (after a whole year) comprehending the fact that this was his _Boss _he was talking to.

So what he wanted was for her to order Ducky to do an autopsy against his will? Yeah, she didn't know how well DiNozzo knew Ducky. But she'd known the man (since before she'd been stationed in Europe), and she was very well aware of the fact that no matter much she order Dr. Mallard to do _anything_. If he didn't want to do it, then he wouldn't do it.

Donald "Ducky" Mallard could be quite suborn when he wanted to be.

"I will talk to Dr. Mallard, and he _won't _be in trouble-," she added quickly when she saw that he was about to argue. "I will find a way for their religion to be taken into consideration-" holding up a hand again to keep him from speaking, "and _don't _tell me what their religion is. All you need to say is "yes ma'am", and you should have your autopsy results by the end of the day."

Looking shocked-to the point of slightly offending her-at her quick acceptance, DiNozzo meekly asked, "but don't you need to know what their religion is?"

"No," she said firmly-in the very little time she'd had to make up a game plan-she had considered all avenues for this thing to go wrong. "I _do not _need to know their religion. What do you think the relatives-who _let me remind you_ will be very unhappy-will say when they find out an autopsy was done anyway? They'll say that we were being prejudice or inconsiderate of their beliefs. So if I _do not _know their religion, we have a better chance of _not _getting a lawsuit filed against us."

Special Agent DiNozzo's head cocked to the side slightly, in a wondering voice he exclaimed, "you have to think about things like that?!"

She couldn't help the sound of shocked exclamation that escaped her, "what do you think my job is about?!"

DiNozzo shrugged, "I dunno", he muttered-a little put out. "But, why are you helping me?" He asked, and Jenny tried to ignore the hurt little thought that lingered at the back of her mind at his seeming surprise.

_'Does he think I'm heartless? Is that what everyone thinks about me?!'_

The little 'devil on her shoulder' whispered in her ear "Ice Queen of the Beltway", "Ice Queen of the Beltway". It mocked her relentlessly, bringing back flashes of overheard whispered conversations, words people hadn't even had the decency to wait and say when she wasn't around.

They were all the little things she had tried to let roll off of her the past year.

And so far she had been successful-never letting it get to her. After all, the name calling, people claiming she didn't have a soul. All of that hadn't just started with her advancement to Director.

It was something she'd been dealing with her entire career. Now, it just seemed-no matter how hard she was trying to let all of the words roll of her back. Some of the more stubborn ones were sticking.

So she went to her failsafe backup, leaning back and drumming her fingernails on her desk to the beat of her headache. She stared at DiNozzo, feeling her body armor of ice wash over her-covering up those stubbornly sticking words.

The file locked away in her bottom desk drawer, invaded her thoughts.

"Let's get something straight Special Agent DiNozzo," she said softly-authoritatively, and watched as he straightened up in response to her tone. "You seem to think I have it out for you. I don't. I don't have it out for any of the men under my command, nor any of the women."

_'No,' _her mind tormented her, _'instead you've got a grudge out on French arms dealers.'_

She continued, "and I'm not helping _you_. I'm helping the Major Case Response Team, and by extension-_NCIS_-catch the murderer who put another body down in our morgue. I will speak to Dr. Mallard-all of my promises stand, but there was no need for you to try and lay on charm to ask me to do it. It is my job, next time all you have to do is ask. I don't care if you hate me, and don't want to ask me. I doesn't matter if I dislike you and don't _want _to do it. Like I said, it is my job. Is that clear, Special Agent DiNozzo?"

Tony's face was blank, masking any and all layers of charm he had had on when he first walked in. Now, he looked like he was _this _close to saying something unsavory to her. But, being the good little agent he was, he sucked up his anger and replied stiffly, "crystal, Director."

Without waiting for a dismissal he stood up to leave, but just as he had opened the door. Jenny let loose her final order, "oh, and DiNozzo?"

Not turning around Jenny could tell he was speaking from between clenched teeth when he answered, "yes Director?"

"That statement the press is looking for, the one Cynthia told you to remind me about. It's at 1500 hours in front of the building, and since I-regrettably-can't be there. I expect you to give a flattering statement involving the Marine Corp, and what exactly NCIS does for it."

Jenny halfway expected him to blowup at that, but instead he turned around to glower at her. He hissed, "why _me_?"

"For wasting my time," she answered cruelly.

She tried not to flinch at the sound of the slamming door.

* * *

She was back in the metallic walls of an NCIS elevator-riding on down to the basement.

Lately, it seemed as if most of her day was spent riding the elevators up and down. And if she were five years old, lighting up the buttons on the side panel-then she might've enjoyed it. As it was...she had a very _mild_, very _tame _form of claustrophobia.

Well, that's what the NCIS resident psychologist (meaning-Ducky) had called it when a freak out during her time as an agent had sent her to talk to someone for it.

So, she'd gone to talk to Ducky. And now here she was riding the elevator down to see said man, only the difference now is that she'd heard he'd actually gone and gotten himselfa degree in psychology.

And-_of course_-the fact that she was his boss meant something now.

_'Yeah,' _that _annoying _voice in her head piped up, _'you're the boss that left him at an event he was kind enough to accompany you to. Just so you could go have drunken sex with the FBI Director on his couch.'_

She wished that voice would die a violent, _painful _death.

The flashing lights above her that indicated what floor they were on flashed, and they stopped on the floor right above the one for autopsy-Abby's lab. That was where the last two people-agents both of them-in the once full elevator got off, and Jenny finally felt like she could breath a little easier.

Even though it was November, and the NCIS building tended to get colder the closer to autopsy you got. She still felt as though the elevator was overheated, and it might've just been the remembrance of how packed it had been when she got on. Still, she was starting to wish she'd just called...

It had taken her maybe five minutes after DiNozzo had stormed out, for her to realize just _what _exactly she'd gotten promised to do. She had promised that she would talk to Dr. Mallard, and after the speech she'd given DiNozzo it wasn't as if she could go back on her word.

For a few brief moments she'd contemplated the benefits of simply calling the autopsy extension, and telling Ducky her orders over the phone. But eventually good manners, and the fact that she didn't remember what exactly had happened to Ducky last night-had cajoled her into getting up and moving.

She hadn't realized the elevator had stopped once more-until she finally registered the incessant binging. And for a moment she wished she'd remembered to put back on those sunglasses, or at least take some more aspirin before coming down.

_'I'm never drinking bourbon again.'_

Taking a deep breath, and squaring her shoulders. She caught the doors before they shut on her again, and sliding out she gave a whispered curse when the point of her heel caught. Stumbling, she threw her arms out blindly to stop her fall...

And fell right through the opened automatic sliding doors of autopsy-flat on her face.

"DIRECTOR?"

"Um," she groaned in exasperation when she heard Jimmy Palmer-Ducky's assistant surprised shout. And the next thing she knew gentle-but strong-hands were turning her over.

She opened her eyes to the sight of two figures hovering over her, one was Mr. Palmer, and the other was the man she'd come to see.

"My dear, are you alright?" The cultured Scottish voice hovered above her, coming from the man that had flipped her over. And she managed to moan out three words, "I'm fine Doctor."

Even though the glare from the overhead lights was making it a little hard to make out the figures above her. She could just see the outline of a hand reaching out to her.

Taking the hand, she gasped as she was righted like she was no heavier than a feather. Especially when she came face-to-face with the person who had helped her up-it was the elderly Doctor.

"Thank you Doctor Mallard," she said a weak tone-she hated to admit it. But ever since the first time she'd met the M.E. as an agent, he'd had the unnerving ability to make her feel like a little kid again.

In this case-a guilty-little kid.

"It was no problem, my dear." He answered distractedly, and she was a little nervous at the way he was looking so intently at her. That was until he reached out, and with cold fingers, prodded at her nose slightly.

She hadn't even realized it was throbbing painfully-not with her headache distracting her the way it was.

"I don't think it's broken," he murmured softly, "just bruised."

He made a _'tsk-tsking' _sound with his tongue, and without waiting for consent he herded her over until she was sitting on the nearest metal slab.

"But you should put some ice on it anyway," he finished, and without another word he scurried through one of the doors that led out of autopsy.

She didn't know where it led to.

And she didn't want to.

While Ducky was apparently going to get _ice_, she turned her focus onto poor Mr. Palmer. And she allowed herself a smirk, when all it took was a few seconds of good glaring before the young man finally stuttered, "I-I-I'm just going to takkkke this, uh-."

Looking around frantically, he quickly snatched up a metal bowl of-_what_-she didn't know, and didn't want to. He started backing up towards the exit she'd just ungracefully entered through.

"I-I'm just gonna-could you please tell Dr.-Dr. Mallard thatI'mtakingthisuptoAbby?" He didn't wait for her to answer before he started tripping over himself in his effort to beat a hasty retreat.

Now, that he was gone. Her eyes roamed around the room of harsh white and stainless steel, and a shudder ripped it's way through her.

She hated this room, and everything it represented.

The fact that she was sitting on a metal slab where Ducky could've just possible dissected a body moments before. Made her want to throw up more than the residue effects of her hangover did.

At least her back was turned to the drawers where the bodies were..._kept_.

"Well I see that you've managed to scare away my assistant," Ducky's voice had never been more welcome than it was at that moment, when she looked up to see him scurrying back into the room-icepack in hand.

"Here," he said-shoving the pack of cold at her face. Taking it from him, she placed it barely against her nose. Though even the slight feeling of cold, was enough to ease the ache.

"Keep that on for at least another ten minutes," Ducky ordered as he turned around and grabbed his office chair. Spinning it around he took a seat in front of her, waiting patiently.

"Thank you Dr. Mallard," her formal words sounded heavy in the silence.

"Please my dear, _Ducky_." There was no need to elaborate, they both knew what he meant.

Shaking her head an infinitesimal bit she said a little sadly, "that would not be profession-."

"Forget professionalism," if the older man hadn't looked as stern as he did when he cut her off, then she would've gotten angry at being interrupted. "There is no one here besides myself, and I am surely not someone you have to be professional around."

She thought about that for a moment...If he didn't want professionalism, then that was the least she could do for him.

"Okay, but business first," she compromised, and not that she wouldn't budge. He nodded, recognizing her struggle, he would settle for business first.

"The MCRT has a case, and they do need an autopsy done for the victim. Now I do realize that there are relatives and religious reasons getting in the way. And I also understand your need to respect their wishes, and just as surely I am aware of the fact that I cannot order you to do an autopsy either. But as we do need results, my suggestion to you is; find whatever is necessary to fulfill their religious reasons. Whether they want a; rabbi in the room, some sort of ceremony, or just someone to perform last rites. Just do your best to fulfill the religious aspects of the situation, and then you _must _perform an autopsy."

After a moment of deliberation, Ducky nodded once more-he seemed to be satisfied with her directions. Since the business part of their deal was done, he scooted forward in his seat, and she uncrossed her legs-settling into the most relaxed position she was able to get being in a morgue.

"Understood Director. Now...Jennifer," she'd almost forgotten what it was like to be called Jennifer by someone who _wasn't _hostile towards her.

It felt nice.

"Yes, Docto-," at his pointed look, she hurried to correct herself, "yes, Ducky?"

His head tilted to the side-observing her, and she watched as the look took on a mischievous glint. She would almost care to bet money on what his next question would be...

"Care to explain where you were last night, Jennifer?"

"I was at a ball, last night. At the invite of a Senator," she fired back on instinct, and almost regretted the fact that it was _her _who was dragging this out. Of course she knew she could've just walked out the doors of autopsy, and refuse to answer to any of this.

But she owed the man in front of her more than that.

So she retracted her previous statement, and was infinitely glad for the fact that the icepack she was holding to her nose covered most of her redheaded cursed skin.

"I-um, I left early last night."

"So I assumed," his amused tone-instead of aggravating her-simply made her feel even more guilty than she already did.

"I am _really _sorry Ducky. I didn't mean to leave you there without a ride home."

"Who said I didn't have a ride home?"

"Huh?" She went to move the icepack away from her nose, but a restraining hand stopped her. "What do you mean? Who did you ride with?"

"Don't worry about who _I _rode home with. I'm more concerned about who rode home with _you_." The teasing glint in his eyes intensified, and she felt the her cheeks heat up even more with the force of her blush.

"I don't believe that's any of your business Ducky," she said reproachfully.

"Well I'm simply making sure you used protection."

"DUCKY!" She shouted, and this time there was no restraining hand to keep her from removing the icepack. And this time when she did remove it she was melt with the sight of an elderly M.E. doubled-over, laughing his butt off.

Slamming the cold pack down on the slab beside her. She jumped daintily off the slab, and made to stalk off towards the exit in a huff. But before she could take more than two steps, a hand caught off her arm.

Whirling around, she faced the man who was holding her arm with one hand, and wiping away tears with the other. "I can't believe you just said that to me!" She screeched a tad too loudly.

"Oh, my dear...," he pulled himself together and tried-and failed-at putting on a somber expression, "I am sorry. But you do need someone to tease you every now and again. Sitting up there in your office all the time can't possibly be good for you. And, well-I couldn't resist."

When he had finished, Ducky looked like the man who had once teased her for getting sick in her first autopsy. And it made the somewhat frozen heartstrings she still had-tug uncomfortably at the memory of simpler times.

"Still...," she grumbled-unwilling to forgive him so easily.

In the distant hallway they could hear the sound of the elevator settling on their floor, and the chatter of multiple people as they made to disembark.

As if Ducky had his own body armor, all of a sudden his teasing and lighthearted mood was gone. Replaced by a seriousness she'd only seen from this man a handful of times, he took a step towards her and spoke in low urgent voice. "My dear to be careful with him. He's a good man, one of the best-maybe even the best-I know, but he's been through a lot."

_'What?' _She thought in shock, there was no way he could possibly know who she'd spent her night with-or maybe he could? This was Ducky after all, a man who seemed to know everything about everything.

"Who are you-?"

"_Jethro_," Ducky said in a knowing voice, and she barely had time for the shock to register before he was speaking again. "And I doubt that he'll have told anyone this, but if your seeing him again today-."

She barely had time to remember the words, _'I'll call to collect that dinner you owe me,' _before he was speaking again. His hand on her arm was pushing her gently towards the doors of autopsy, and she was just able to make out his last words before a faceless-nameless-group of agents came in.

"Today is his birthday."

With that she was being herded out of the autopsy glass doors, but before she could allow herself to question everything. She caught one of the doors before they shut, "Dr. Mallard," she called-sticking her head inside.

"Yes, Director?" He asked politely, turning away from the group that he seemed to be addressing.

"How _did _you get home last night?"

It took him a moment to answer, and in those split-seconds she saw a million different answers flit across his face. But when he finally answered her it was quite an easy answer, "Ms. Matilda is quite the breakfast companion."

Once back in the elevator, she punched the button for the level of the catwalk-then paused. She smirked, nice and smug. Her next meeting with Senator Winters was going to be quite enjoyable.

After all, her M.E. had breakfast with his mom.

* * *

"Yeah, Mike."

"I got it, Mike."

"_I know, _Mike."

Dear god, he needed a drink.

No sooner had he made it back to his office after the meeting with the CIA had _finally _ended, and his desk phone had rang. Normally, all calls to his office went through his assistant-_Hollis_-and then she would _ask _him if he wanted to talk to said person that day. But when he'd been walking through her office, and they'd both heard his extension ring on his desk through his open office doors. Her response to his questioning look had been a clueless shrug.

Annoyed with the seeming idiocy of the people he worked with, he hurried into his office-making sure to slam the door behind him. Before dropping his briefcase beside his desk, and snatching up his phone.

There was only one person who knew the number to get directly to him. And if _he _had bothered hauling his ass all the way to the cantina to call him, then it was most likely important.

"What is it Mike?" He had answered urgently, half prepared to be told to grab his gun and haul ass to Baja.

Wouldn't be the first time that had happened.

Yet, instead of the order he'd been expecting. What Mike said next was something Gibbs had been hoping-but knew would be in futile-for him to forget.

"Happy Birthday, Probie!" Mike's voice had practically sung, and Gibbs' next question had been immediate. "You drunk, Mike?"

"Nope!" Had been Mike's indignant reply, and it was soon followed by the defensive, "what?! I can't call and wish you a happy birthday Probie?!"

Gibbs hadn't dignified that with a response. Letting it slide, he'd dropped into his office chair, and propped his feet up on his desk-settling in for the long haul.

Eventually-just as he knew it would-the conversation had turned to where it was now, the leak(s). His 'little issue' was something he'd confided in Mike about during his short stay in Baja while he'd been taking care of business on the west coast. Honestly, now that he thought about it, he didn't know why in the hell he'd thought it was a good idea. All he remembered knowing at the time was that he needed to talk to _someone_. A person who had no more ties with Federal Agencies.

And that someone had ended up being an old hermit who called a rundown hut on a beach his home.

Now, said hermit was making it impossible to put his problem out of his mind for more than five minutes. Couldn't he understand that today of all days, he _didn't _want to be talking about it?! Even though he didn't put any particular importance on his birthdays...today, _this _birthday..._maybe it wouldn't be so bad_.

Especially if he ever got the chance to actually call and collect on a dinner for tonight.

"I know ya don't wanna bring this up to the Big Wigs, and I don't blame you. It's your house and you deserve the chance to clean house the way ya wanna. But don't go doin anything stupid." Mike's voice lectured, and Gibbs wondered what those old agents-the ones that had been so afraid of Mike when he'd been an agent himself-would say if they knew what the man was really like. Sitting here lecturing _him _on his safety when he had at least twenty agents dedicated to protecting him at all time, and _he _was sitting alone on a beach pissing off anybody he came in contact with.

Granted, _he _wasn't much better-there was a reason he was so feared on the Hill.

"I won't Mike," he reassured his former mentor, and rolled his eyes towards the clock on the fall-it was past noon.

"I mean it ya idiot. Don't make me come up there and headslap you. I'm the only one you've told 'bout this, and ya don't know how deep this thing goes yet. So don't go gettin yourself killed, you understand me?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Gibbs barked in a voice he use to only reserve for his C.O.. And he couldn't help but grin at Mike's growl, "boy if you sass me one more time..."

"I don't sass," Gibbs said seriously.

"Hmm sureee," Mike grumbled, then took a deep breath, "one more thing-'cuz I know you're itchin to dial up your newest fiery redhead-."

Gibbs wondered what his sexist former boss would think if he new that 'newest fiery redhead' was the female Director he'd seen shoot him down. And immediately he sent up thanks to whoever was listening that he didn't in fact know.

He could admit that he himself-was chauvinistic. Call it the decade he was raised in, or the good ol' values Jackson Gibbs had worked to instill in his son the first ten years of his life (before everything had gone to hell and a hand-basket).

But Mike-Mike was down right _sexist_.

The only thing that kept him from wondering off on that train of thought. Was the words he heard Mike say next, "just, Probie. C'mon don't be stubborn today. You got friends up there, and I know you never told anyone this willingly. But...let someone know it's your birthday. And hell-if you want to-take the rest of the week off and just come down to Baja! We can do your birthday up right! Go to the cantina, you know Camille's been askin bout you!"

Gibbs couldn't help but appreciate the show of concern. Ever since; the explosion, the coma, Shannon and Kelly coming up, and his hiatus to Mexico. Mike had been showing hints of concern more and more every time they talked.

"I'll be fine Mike," he reassured the older man and resolutely pushed down the memory of sitting on a driftwood log on a beach-gun barrel pointed at his head.

"Happy Birthday, Jethro." Mike said.

And two dial-tone's resonated at the same time. Unperturbed Gibbs set the phone back on the cradle, and stretched his arms up over his head-stretching the tense muscles of his back.

That had been all the goodbye's ever needed with Mike.

Now that _that _conversation was done with-Gibbs took a closer look at his wall clock.

1230 hours.

That was a decent enough time to call. Right? Hell, he didn't give a damn if it was a completely inappropriate time to call. He'd waited all morning, he wasn't waiting any longer.

Picking up the phone once more, he dialed a number he was slowly becoming more and more familiar with.

* * *

So many questions...and surprisingly-almost all of them were for Ducky.

First of all, how in the world did he know it was _'Jethro_' she'd left with last night? Had he seen something? Oh dear god, he hoped not. Not if the incomplete flashbacks he was getting were anything to go by.

Second question, why did Dr. Donald "Ducky" Mallard address Gibbs the way he did? The few people who actually knew that the FBI Director existed, tended to address him by vague names (she didn't think she'd ever even heard people say the words Gibbs before). And the agents of the FBI, well-she didn't know what they called him. But she doubted it was _'Jethro'_.

So what gave Ducky the right.

Not only that, but how did Ducky know that today was his birthday? That was her third question.

How had she, in the past year, missed such an apparent connection her medical examiner had the with the FBI Director? Heck, how did they even know each other? Was it personal? Was it business related?

If she found out The Bastard was using Ducky as a spy...

Well-she wouldn't put it past him.

_'Owww,' _her mind screamed as she made to sit behind her desk. She'd just ridden the elevator back up after her talk with Ducky, and after taking a moment to talk to Cynthia. Now, she was back in her locked and dimmed office-debating her new list of problems.

Though her thought process had been slightly derailed by the fact that her muscles were protesting her every move. Apparently falling wasn't as easy on your body the older you got.

No-she wasn't that old, she would settle for saying that she fell harder than she'd originally thought.

Deciding to forgo sitting for the moment, she leant back against the corner of her desk-trying to relax. And it was almost like fate was working extra hard on her today when the intercom on her desk crackled to life.

"Director," Cynthia's voice came through the static.

"Yes, Cynthia?" She answered running a hand down her face tiredly.

"Ma'am, there's a call on line one for you. They won't say their name."

_'They won't say their name,' _that was more common then people would think. NCIS didn't only have the teams that investigated Navy Crimes, but there was a section of people in their agency who if they stated there names-it would be dangerous.

Twisting slightly to grab the phone, she prepared for a conversation of giving orders to an overseas agent. Her mind running full of ideas; country borders, territorial police, and agents speaking different languages. Without conscious thought she answered the phone, "Bonjour."

"Parlons-nous en francais aujourd'hui?" A deep timber of a voice greeted her back, and it _wasn't _the voice of any of her agents.

None of her agents voice's sent tingles running down her spine.

None of her agents voice's sent shockwaves running through her.

None of her agents voice's made flashbacks of sweaty encounters on a couch hit her like a wrecking ball.

"Je suis un peu rouille afin que vous auriez a nu avec moi," for someone who was 'rusty' the French poured off his tongue in an almost purr.

She decided her body liked it a little _too much _when he spoke French.

"Hello, Bastard," she switched to English effortlessly.

"Mmm, so do you remember who I am? Or do you just greet everyone that way?" She could tell he was teasing her, and...it felt..._familiar _to be doing this with him.

"Just you. Your name is spelt with two B's, right?" Gah, she wasn't even thinking. It was like as soon as she talked to him her brain went to mush, filled with memories of rough kisses, and slender fingers.

"Yeah, why?" He sounded genuinely curious, and she knew she should be asking different questions. One along the lines of what exactly was his relationship with her medical examiner. And if today was in fact his birthday.

"Second B for bastard," she deadpanned.

He barked a harsh, shocked, laugh.

She grinned.

"That works."

"Mmm," she made a noncommittal noise, her eyes sliding shut, "so why are you calling me?"

"Don't you remember that promise you made me last night?"

"Nooooo," she drew the word out. Even if she didn't remember making any deals with him last night, she had a feeling it had something to do with that dinner he was collecting on.

She may not remember _that_, but she did remember the incident that had pushed her near hysterical laughter...

"But I do seem to recall a certain someone not being able to get it u-," she began innocently.

"THAT'S the part you remember!" He growled in disbelief.

A giggle bubbled up and burst past her lips.

"Yep, you old man," she was the one teasing him now. Though a little part of her wondered just _how _old he would be turning today.

"I'm _not _old. I was drunk."

"So was I," she countered.

"_So _I think it's only fair that you hold to your promise of dinner."

"And how do you figure that?" His logic made no sense to her, but messing with him was fun. And, well-she was slightly shocked at the fact that she _did _want to have dinner with him tonight.

"Are we gonna have dinner tonight, or not?!"

She pretended to have to think about it a moment. She knew what her answer would be, but it was just so much fun-riling him up.

"I guess," she sighed as if it were a major pain for her to consent.

"But this is _not _a date," she added quickly-firmly.

"Good," he sounded pleased, "you know that park down the street from the Hoover building?"

"Yessss," the park? Why did he want to know if she knew about a park? "Aren't dinners supposed to be eaten in restaurants?"

"You're the one that said this wasn't a date. Do you trust me?" He asked her, and she deliberated for a moment. Even if they were meeting in a park, both of them would have their security details with them. And it wasn't as if he hadn't had the chance to do anything bad to her last night.

When she'd been drunk.

And had gone home with him.

She hated having to consider these things. Jethro Gibbs-besides being a bastard-seemed like a genuinely good man. But in today's world, and especially in her job field, she had to consider these things.

"I don't know yet," she answered honestly.

"Fair enough," he conceded. "Meet me at ten. Follow the path from the north entrance."

"Then will you explain to me why we're meeting in a park?"

"Sure, Jen."

Later, as she sat behind her desk-messing with her _official _case files, her mind was spinning. She was thinking about all she needed to do. All of the official case files, all of the agents she needed to talk to, and...what to do about a certain man's birthday...

And one word kept echoing over-and-over in her head.

_Jen_.

'Jen,' she could get use to that.

* * *

When 2200 hours _finally _rolled around, Jenny was looking out of the window of her towncar-at the darkened streets of DC.

Traffic wasn't _very _bad, they were past rush hour traffic. But even if the majority of DC was already at home eating dinner with their families. There were people such as _federal agents _who were just now heading home, or at least the ones that _were _going home tonight.

It made her feel vaguely guilty that there were still agents working diligently in her absence. While she was skipping away for a late dinner.

She pushed that thought out of her head-she couldn't remember the last time she'd left the office this early for her own purposes.

"Stop here," she ordered her driver when she realized where they were. Her driver parallel parked, and they came to a halt by the archway of the north entrance.

Not waiting for Stanley to come around and open her door, she slid out on her own. When the November night air, she shivered.

November in DC after dark-even in a long sleeved shirt and blazer-was freezing.

When the three agents assigned to her detail, made to follow her. She stopped and debated for a moment, pointing to two of the agents, "stay," she commanded them.

"You," she pointed to the agent on the far left, "please grab the bag and come with me."

"Yes, ma'am," the nameless agent said, and reaching into the passenger seat of the car. He pulled out a plastic bag.

She wasn't so sure about her little purchase. All she knew was that she was on her way to the meeting place and they'd been passing the place she'd purchased it from-and it struck her on a whim.

She had gone in, and was out in less than five minutes.

Shrugging off her doubts, she turned and began the trek along the stone walkway-her agent following at an acceptable distance. At this time of night, the park was fairly empty-considering the FBI's headquarters were right down the road from the place-this certain park was mostly for families and young children.

After all, only the idiotic underage teenagers partied right down the road from the FBI.

_'So a single, petite, woman walking alone-at night-with an armed guard following her-had nothing to worry about.' _She snorted at that thought, while her eyes scanned the picnic tables lining the walkway.

Gibbs didn't give explicit instructions as to where he'd be. He had only told her to follow the path, and she just assumed it meant she would see him somewhere along the way. Unless, he was hiding out in the woods and expected her to use her map and compass to track him down.

_'Or this is all one big giant setup,' _that was a thought that had been bothering her all day. She had done her best to not acknowledge it-didn't _want _to acknowledge. Because some guilty little part of herself didn't want this to be a setup.

But it was starting to look like it was...

She'd passed multiple picnic tables, and saw nothing. Not even a darker shadow. And just when she was steeling herself to the fact that maybe Gibbs wasn't the man she thought he was-she came upon what looked to be the last table.

It was set apart from the rest. A cove of thick oak trees surrounding it-blocking said table from view from anywhere but the trail. The moon wasn't out yet, and the light from the lamps lining the park didn't quite reach the table.

Sitting on the table, was at a form darker than the night surrounding it-

It was a person.

Signaling with a single hand gesture for the agent to stay on the trail. She started forward-stepping off the trail-and inwardly cursing the dead leaves that littered the ground, and crunched under her heels.

She knew it might not necessarily be a good idea to approach a stranger at dark. And normally she wouldn't have done it, not even with an armed guard behind her. But through the dark she could make out that the stranger had a shock of silver hair.

Five feet away-and the closer she got, the easier his (because he was definitely a man) features were to make out. The man was sitting atop the table, his feet on the bench, and his head bowed. His silver hair glinted even in the dark, his broad shoulders were hunched, and his muscled arms were bent with his hands clasped in his lap.

He lifted his head-his blue eyes dark, teeth white when he gave a hint of a smile, "hey."

She smiled back, "hey."

Forgetting completely about any reservations she may of had. She walked straight up to him, and hoisted herself up until she sat beside him. She didn't even care if she ruined her skirt.

Her hair fell around her shoulders, when she turned her head to him.

"So what's for dinner?" She asked.

He reached behind him, and pulled out his own plastic bag.

"Chinese," he answered.

* * *

He was seated on one side of the table, her on the other.

Boxes of Chinese spread out between them. Chopsticks clutched in both of their hands.

He'd been pleasantly surprised when chopsticks hadn't fazed her in the least. He didn't know _why _he thought she would need his help, but he'd expected to have to deal with her fumbling an twittering about how she couldn't possibly hold them.

But she was using those damn sticks better than he was.

He should have known that she was nothing like Allison was.

"So are you ever going to tell me why exactly we had to meet in a park?" She asked, her focus on the mu shu pork she was munching on.

"Do yo-," he started around a mouthful of fried rice, but she abruptly reached over and slapped his hand.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," she ordered primly, ignoring his burning glare.

Making a point to exaggerate the rest of his chewing, he swallowed and said, "do you know how to spot a tail."

She hummed and nodded, he continued, "were you watching for a tail?"

Her attention back on him, she looked a little concerned when she swallowed and said, "no. Should I have been?"

Their eyes locked, and they were both serious when he told her, "yes. You had a reporter tailing you, my detail took care of it once you were within a block of the park."

Breaking the connection with his _intense _eyes, she looked down at her food-she didn't want to look at him. A shiver passed over her, and she suddenly wasn't very hungry anymore-even if this was the only thing she'd eaten all day.

Even though the person tailing her, was only a reporter. The thought that a person had been following her-without her knowledge. It chilled her more than the November air.

"You not hungry anymore?" He asked, looking at her discarded food.

She shook her head slightly, "no," she muttered.

He stared at her intently, as if he could see straight to the point of what was bothering her-just by looking at her.

"You cold?" He grunted.

"Oh uh-," she was chilled, but she wasn't about to tell him that. Though before she could get out her denial, he was shrugging out of his black sports jacket, and handing it to her over the table.

"Thanks," she murmured taking the jacket and sliding her arms through it-even sitting she could tell it swamped her. It was thicker than her blazer though, and the extra warmth it provided was something she didn't mind at all.

"Sooo, what's the 'national crisis' that called you this morning? Morning after issues?" She teased, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere.

He chuckled, shaking his head lightly. "Nah, uh, it was something with the CIA."

It didn't register that he most likely _shouldn't _have told her that, until after it was out of his mouth. But what was she going to do, huh? Go and blab to everyone that the FBI might've been working with the CIA?

"How was the hangover?"

She hissed something that might have been _bastard_. Or maybe it was-_nope_, it was bastard.

"It's your fault I drank so much," she accused.

"What?! How was it my fault?! When I came back the bottle was gone," he defended himself smoothly.

"Well, if you hadn't run off into the woods for some quickie with that woman in the red dress. Then I wouldn't of-"

"Wait! Quickie?! The only woman I had sex with last night was you!"

In the heat of the moment she didn't realize they had both stood, leaning across the table-towards each other. Their faces were inches apart...

And she still wasn't believing him.

"Jen, her name is Monique-she's a contact. And _gay_," he said the last part softly-reassuring her.

It took a moment for that to sink in.

"Oh," she breathed.

"Yeah, oh."

They were frozen in time. Like the moment they had in a clearing full of dancing people-right before she told him to kiss her.

She wondered if she was going to ask him to again.

They were leaning in closer, their eyes narrowing as their lips came nearer. She could feel his hot breath washing over her when he whispered, "today's my birthday."

Her eyes were still sliding shut, but her lips curled up in a smile. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said.

She was almost absurdly glad she'd made that purchase now. Right when their lips were about to touch, her hand came up and she put a light pressure on his chest-pulling back.

His eyes flew open, and he looked at her-confused. Her smile was comforting, and she patted his chest a few times.

"Wait here," she told him.

And she was gone.

It took him a moment to see where she'd gone, and for a second he thought she was leaving. But the dark form of her small figure swaddled in his large jacket, stopped at the trail. Where he knew two agents were staying-one from each of their agencies. Standing up, he moved until he was in the position she had originally found him in, making sure to brush Chinese takeout cartons out of his way.

She stopped at the trail-talking to a man that was barely illuminated by a nearby lamp. It looked like she was asking for something, and his theory was further confirmed when the man handed her an object that she cupped in her hands. He saw a small flicker of what looked like a flame, and then she turned walking back to him-further into the dark.

Even though the closer she got, the farther away she was getting from the light of the trail, the small flicker of flame highlighted the sparkling white of her smile.

But it wasn't until she was standing right in front of him was he able to make out what exactly she was holding.

He laughed, a full deep-bellied laugh that he was finding himself doing more and more around her. They'd only met each other twice.

Yet, the object she was holding so proudly-was one of those large bakery made cupcakes, with one sparkling candle lite atop it.

"Happy Birthday!" She trilled holding out the cupcake proudly. She could tell he was gearing up to ask her just how she'd known beforehand that it was his birthday-and she cut him off before he got a word out.

"Make a wish," she urged.

Rolling his eyes-but smiling nonetheless-he leaned forward indulgently, blowing the one flickering flame out. He leaned back, and patted the spot next to him-where they'd started out-and she handed him the cupcake while she got herself situated.

Reaching into his back pocket, he slipped his pocketknife out. Flipping it open, he ignored her look of surprise and in one swift move-sliced the cupcake in half.

Tossing the burnt out candle aside-he handed her the larger slice.

"Rule number 9," he answered simply, she arched a questioning eyebrow-peeling back the wrapper on her slice before taking a bite. He tried to keep from staring at her mouth while he continued, "never go anywhere without a knife."

"So you have a rule against apologizing, and a rule about never going anywhere without a knife." She said, chewing on the chocolate gooeyness pensively. "Any others I should know about?"

"About forty-eight more of them," he replied while he savored her choice in cupcake. Chocolate, he really did love chocolate.

"Do they come in the FBI rulebook?"

"Nope, they aren't the FBI's-they're my own."

"You have your own rules? Why?"

"Everybody needs a code to live by," he ignored the familiar ache when he said those words. Turning his head to look at the redhead beside him, he sat his empty wrapper down behind them, and watched as she did the same to her own.

"And these rules-they aren't written down anywhere?"

"Nah, I just remember 'em."

"I guess I'll just have to stick around long enough to learn them." And she shocked herself at just _how much _she meant those words.

How much she wanted to stick around. Just like he had to ignore the ache from an old ghost. She ignored her own ghost, she shouldn't want to stick around-not with the way things were headed. She had a job, a career to think about.

But their lips were getting closer again, and she didn't want to think about those things.

"How did you know it was my birthday?"

"A friend," she answered cryptically. She watched as he paused for a moment-pondering her words. Their shoulders were touching...

She saw the proverbial light-bulb light up for him, "Duck."

"How do you know my medical examiner, Jethro?" Her head tilted, their faces sliding closer together...

"That's a story for another time, Jen."

And their lips met.

It was like the kiss in the clearing, only this time neither of them were drunk. Which-just allowed them to forgo all the fumbling and stumbling...

Before she knew it, she was straddling his lap on the tabletop. One of his hands was clutching at her red curls-tugging her mouth closer, and the other was resting on the inside of her thigh. Both of her hands were resting against the sides of his neck, stroking the undersides of his jaw. And their lips-their lips were moving in a frenzy.

Her silky lips gliding over his were a heavenly feeling. His tongue swiped at her bottom one-begging for entrance, which she granted. She wasn't one to submit, the sudden feeling that her blood was _boiling _made her entice him in a duel for dominance.

He didn't think about the fact that they were in a middle of a park-he thought about the fact that her thighs were squeezing his. He didn't think about the fact that it was almost the middle of the night in November-he thought about the fact that she was _so _soft and warm. He didn't think about the fact that any of their employees could be potentially watching them-he thought about the fact that she tasted like chocolate.

She wasn't so lucky.

She would have loved to be able to forget about everything. To lose herself in a kiss that had the potential to make her drown in passion. To enjoy the feeling of fire rushing through her veins.

But-unbidden-everything hit her at once. _Everything_, especially the fact that this was only the second time she'd met this man in person, and already they were kissing again.

It took extreme willpower to detach her lips from his, but she did eventually break away-gasping for air that she'd forgotten she needed. Backing away, she had to press a hand a restraining against Jethro-to keep the lips that were trying to follow hers-still.

His eyes flew open once more in confusion.

"Jethro," she panted, "we can't keep doing this every time we see each other."

Now, even though he didn't necessarily agree with this-he nodded breathlessly as she slid off his lap. Though this time she was sitting much closer beside him than she was before.

Without thinking, he swung an around her. Leaning back he kept going until his head landed on the wooden tabletop, pulling her with him-her head landed in the juncture of his shoulder and arm.

She didn't protest, didn't move away.

It could've been minutes, maybe hours-time had a way of slipping by when he was with her. They didn't talk, didn't move away from the position they'd landed in. Just laid there-catching their breath and watching as one-by-one the bright point of stars popped up against the dark sky.

She realized something, laying there with him. Her nose was no longer throbbing-her headache was gone. The tension keeping her body tight and tense since the incident in her office, was gone.

She felt relaxed, loose, and unbelievably _warm _curled up in his side.

The body armor she relied so heavily on-was gone. Stripped bare by a kiss that had left her breathless, and in it's absence the words that were getting so much harder to let roll of her back-were left bare.

Left bare for her to think, rethink, and agonize over.

"Do you think I'm made of ice?" Her whispered question sounded unbelievably loud in the silence surrounding them. And she didn't dare elaborate further.

She half hoped that he hadn't heard her.

But, _he had_. Leaning up slightly, and turning his head-he looked at her. He knew she was petite, but she looked so incredibly tiny curled in his jacket-tucked in his side.

Though her tiny person looked like she could quite easily get swallowed in the darkness surrounding them-her eyes. Her eyes were a different story entirely.

He focused on her eyes now, and it made him so very angry to think anyone could call this woman icy. Yes, she had a persona she had to maintain, but then again everyone in their profession had one. _Maybe_, she was good enough to pass herself as the 'Ice Queen of the Beltway' (he heard rumors to) if one didn't look at her eyes.

Her eyes-wide and luminous through the dark, spilled everything. They sparkled and spoke of happiness, lust, and...fear. Fear and sadness, and something else-the shadow he'd noticed first at the ball yesterday.

Still-she was anything but icy.

"No," he twirled a single ringlet around his finger lazily, "I think you're haunted."

Her turned downcast, and a blush spread across her cheeks. She turned her face into his shoulder, and took a deep breath-settling for the answer he'd given.

What she didn't say-was that she thought he was haunted too.

* * *

Much, much, _much _later-hours past the decent time she _should've _been at home and in bed by. Jennifer Shepard was standing in front of her bathroom mirror, brushing the tangles out of her hair.

Once she'd finally gotten her bushy curls nice and smooth. She deposited her emerald earring studs on the bathroom cabinet.

Flipping off the overhead lights-she exited her bathroom clad only in her panties. Making her way through her dark bedroom towards her nice and comfy bed, just as she was about to pull her duvet back and take shelter from the chill in her bedroom-she paused.

Her eyes were pulled-like a magnet-to the briefcase laying on her dresser.

She was moving before she'd made the decision too. Padding across the room, she opened her briefcase with deft movements, and shoved her hand inside...

Extracting a dark red bundle of material.

The worn material swaddled her in a way that a sports coat had earlier today. The hem of the hoodie was brushing her thighs, and this time she didn't hesitate before sliding into bed.

One word bounced in her head, and lulled her into a sleep-

_No_.

No-someone out there didn't believe she was made of ice. She fell asleep that night with a soft smile on her face, cuddled up in the smells of The Bastard who was quickly worming his way under her armor.

* * *

_a/n: This chapter is EXTRA long. So, don't get use to that. And I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to update this-time just sort of got away from me. But I AM NOT giving up on this story. Again since it took me so long to update this and I want to publish it right away, I haven't spell checked it yet. The other chapters of this story, have been replaced with mostly spellchecked ones._

_Guys thank you so much to all my readers and reviewers! I appreciate you all!_

_I've got a question for y'all. Do you think I use to many details and not enough plot?_


	5. I Take it Back

_A/N: So I forgot what day it's actually suppose to be in the story-so forgive me on that. Now, about how long the story is taking to develop. I promise the story is going to take off pretty soon. Actually originally I hadn't had any plans to really make this story as big as y'all seem to want it to be. So I'm kinda of making up the plot as I go. Now if things are going the way I plan, after a few more chapters of establishing a kind of steady JIBBS. More plot lines should take off._

_NO EXCUSES FOR HOW LONG IT TAKES ME TO UPDATE. SORRY._

_DISCLAIMER: I Don't Own NCIS_

_AND I'M NOT CONDONING DRVING WITHOUT A SEATBELT. THIS IS JUST A STORY PEOPLE. REMEMBER THAT._

* * *

It's a week after their little dinner when they meet up again.

In those seven days she didn't pine for him, and he didn't for her. They didn't just sit around debating whether they should call each other or not. He didn't wonder if she was going to dinner with another man, and she didn't fret about whether or not his secretary was flirting with him.

Nope, after all they weren't teenagers in high school wondering if they were going to Prom together. They were two high ranking politicians who were dealing with world problems, and problems that ranked on a much more personal levels.

Still more often than not a red hoodie that she was quickly becoming more fond of accompanied her to bed at night. And, a more apocalyptic miracle occurred, on the few nights he went to sleep in his house and not the office it was his bed that was used. The pillow they had shared, being the only one on his bed.

Yet, they didn't think about each other. Not at all.

* * *

Those six days before the seventh day had been hard. It seemed as if every NCIS team-even the minor ones-had major cases with major PR issues.

And the MCRT had _two _cases, and considering Anthony DiNozzo-the man who was notorious for charming the press-was mad at her...Let's just say there was plenty enough reason to keep her fingers in the pot.

As for the FBI it was a little different from NCIS, but no less busy, maybe even more so. Usually there was enough people under him so that Gibbs never had to directly get involved with the small cases that pertained to DC alone.

Assistant Directors, team leaders, old coots who lived in Mexico beach houses...

So, most of the time he left those things for his underlings to do. And he bothered himself mainly with national problems, the black-ops he use to be so good at, and the major corruption of his agents at the hand of French villians. But, for the last six days he'd found those things being in the back of his mind (along with a woman with brilliant green eyes and vibrant red hair), while he tried to keep up with the utter impossibility for idiots to just cooperate with his agency.

Maybe it was a cruel twist of faith, or maybe it was just karma coming back to bite them both in the asses. Either way, on the sixth day as both Director's laid down for a fitful night's sleep...

Both were hoping for a better day to come with morning...

And, well-for the most part-that wouldn't be the case.

* * *

_...A sweet little girl's laugh..._

_...Sundress and sunflowers..._

_...Red hair..._

_...Jethro..._

_...Gibbs..._

_...Daddy...don't...go...please..._

His eyelids flying open, he was looking around the room wildly. Body tense and posed for action, it took him a moment to realize that the air was still locked in his lungs.

He took a deep shuddering gasp that sounded more like a sob.

Throwing off the covers that were tangled around him wildly. He leapt out of his bed, and was halfway across his bedroom before his feet even touched the floor. Flinging open his bathroom door, his sock clad feet slid on the tile floors, and his hands grasped desperately on the cold countertop.

Leaning over his sink and blindly turning the cold water on, he cupped his hands under the faucet. Heedless to the possibility of the mess he might create, the icy water he splashed on his face took his newly reclaimed breath away.

Grasping to the side for a hand towel he knew had to be there, he used the one he found to mop up his face. Twisting off the knob, he rolled his shoulders back. Hearing the tense joint crack, and the muscles protest.

Even without looking, his internal clock was screaming at him that it was far to early for him to be up. Though he knew for sure he wasn't getting back to sleep tonight, there was no way he was going to go into work early today.

No, he'd grab some coffee, maybe make it Irish, and head down to the basem-...

_'Ring-ring' 'Ring-ring'_

Hanging his head, he groaned.

Apparently he _was _going into work early today.

* * *

Had she gone to sleep last night?

She didn't remember.

All she knew for a fact was that she woken up at 4 a.m. on the dot from a banging on her door. It took her an abnormally long time to rise from the fog of sleep she was in, and by the time she was coherent the banging on her door had turned into a fierce pounding.

It wasn't until she opened the door and was greeted with the sight of a hassled Cynthia. That she realized that instead of being in her comfortable Georgetown townhouse, she had apparently fallen asleep in her office last night.

Otherwise she was having a nightmare about work again. And she doubted even she could imagine the frantic look in her secretaries eyes.

So she asked the first thing that came to mind, "what's been blown up? Who blew it up? And do we possibly know _why _it was blown up?"

"Room on board a destroyer docked in Norfolk. We don't know. And quite possibly with the intent of murder?"

"Send the MCRT."

"Yes ma'am."

With that Cynthia turned to go call agent's out of bed, and Jenny shut her office door. Leaning back against it for a moment, she took time to be grateful for the fact that she'd recently replaced the spare clothes she kept in the office. And yet one part of her still mourned the loss of a being clothed in a red hoodie that smelled like Old Spice...

But first before she could even think about looking decent, or being clean...

She was going to need coffee, a lot of it.

* * *

"Alpha team rejoin with Bravo team. You're done."

"Delta team I need a final report."

_"Everyone accounted for, sir. Only one injured was Marcus, and that was just a flesh wound. Approaching the rendezvous point now."_

"Good. Good job everyone. See you when you get back."

When the sound of static filled his ears, he reached up and fumbled the headpiece off. Tossing on the technicians console carelessly, he turned his gaze away from the now dead screen in front of him.

"Good mission everyone," he muttered sarcastically, turning around and looking at the empty room behind him. He didn't know why, this got to him, that the room was empty. That he was just him standing up here, and giving the orders.

Usually he liked it that way.

Still, it got disheartening clearing out the room every time he had a Black Ops to run. Of course it was his own fault that he didn't allow anyone to be in the room with him. He wouldn't dare risk it with the little hidden weasels that were running around these days in his agency.

Sometimes though, he wished there could be someone standing up there with him. Someone who knew what they were doing. Someone who knew when to rein him in. And someone who he knew would always have his back.

In all his time with the FBI he'd never had that. He'd always been on the more 'single agent' career track, where having a team following him wasn't conducive to what he was doing.

It was days like this when he missed the brotherhood of the Corps.

Sighing and shaking off those useless thoughts, he quickly mounted the ramp that led to the exit. Entering the code that would unseal the door that blocked him off from the rest of the world, he took a second to brace himself.

Once he opened this door he would have to deal with all the people waiting on the outside.

Clenching his teeth, it was like ripping off a Band-Aid when turned the door handle. Blinking a little to adjust to the harsh lighting compared to the darkness in the room he was walking out of. He wanted to slap his forehead when he saw Fornell clearly waiting for him a few feet away.

"Gibbs!"

And that was when he knew he'd been spotted.

Turning in the _opposite _direction from the other agent, even though that just meant it would take longer for him to get back to his office. He heard the pounding footsteps that indicate Fornell was hurrying to catch up.

"Gibbs!" He exclaimed again as if he hadn't heard him the first time. Gibbs quickened his descent down the step.

"Jethro Gibbs!" He heard _again_, and this time with his middle name and all.

Not wanting Tobias to yell down the whole damn building, not slowing his stride Gibbs quipped, "oh-uh, mommy's pulling out the middle name. I must be in trouble too!"

"Cut the crap! I know you were talking to Diane the other day. And I know there is something you aren't telling me. Like what the hell you've spending so much time in Communications for, and-"

Gibbs could've dropped to his knees with relief when he saw the door to his office up ahead. Tossing it open and ignoring the looks his secretary was sure to send them, he turned on Fornell quickly.

"First of all," he help one hand and put up his index finger, "don't talk to me like I'm five years old Tobias."

"Second," his middle finger joined his index finger, "you and Diane _are divorced. _And all I did was say she looked good when she came by earlier this week looking for a news story."

"Third," his ring finger joined his others, "it's need to know."

"Don't you have any work today Tobias?" With that he slammed the door in the other mans face.

Turning around he eyed the amused look his secretary was giving him defiantly. It wasn't like he hadn't seen her shout much worse things down the phone at people before.

Hollis Mann had only started working for 'him' at the beginning of this year. So technically she'd worked with Leon until he got back from California, and he'd only really just gotten to know the woman the past two or so months. He knew she was a retired Colonel from the Army, he _didn't _know why she'd come to work back at the FBI of all places, and yet he did know that she didn't seem to be fazed by anything he'd done so far.

She was quick, efficient, smart, had a nice figure, and even he could admit-pretty eyes.

Too bad she was a blonde.

And-technically-his employee.

Raising one eyebrow, she took the cue and moved over to him, a sheet of paper in her hand. Coming to stand a little too close for normal boss/employee standards to him, she leaned over and brandished the sheet of paper she had folded in half.

"I took the liberty of writing down the things you need to do today. Considering I'm pretty sure you have no idea how to work that thing," she said with a smirk, and indicating the fancy phone clipped to his belt that he'd literally been issued by the President himself.

He scowled, "I know how to work a PDA, Hollis."

"That's a Blackberry, Gibbs," she laughed, and he tried to pretend like he knew that apparently Blackberries and PDA's weren't the same thing.

"Whatever," he grumbled and snatched the sheet of paper away from her. Repositioning it's distance from his eyes so that he could actually read the thing, he groaned at the sheer number of items on the list.

And the fact that it would require interacting with idiots.

* * *

Throwing herself down in the leather chair behind her desk, Jenny rubbed her eyes tiredly.

MTAC had a way of taking it out of a person.

After her little 'chat' with DiNozzo, and her polite 'talk' with the Senator. Jenny had been about ready to call it a day right then and there, and at the time it had only been 5 o'clock.

Though of course she couldn't have been that lucky, not with the week she'd been having. Nope, literally the moment she'd sat the phone receiver down, and Cynthia had been back in her office.

Cynthia was a dedicated assistant, the type one-in-a-million people were lucky to get. But damn, Jenny was so tired of seeing the woman she was tempted to fire her for a week just to give them both a break.

Who was she kidding? She wasn't dumb enough to shoot herself in the head like that. Take Cynthia out of her office and NCIS would fall.

Still if it kept her out of anymore MTAC meetings like the one she's just been in...

Originally, it was just suppose to be about overseeing a mission in a unspecified territory in Iraq. The mission had been set for months, the beginning of the operation had started just two weeks after she'd taken the position as Director. That had been when they'd gotten word that a lower cell with small ties to Al Qaeda had plans to infiltrate and blow a Destroyer that had millions on board.

Not to mention reinforcements for American troops.

It would be Jenny's first ever large scale mission to directly oversee and run. Of course, she'd done some smaller plays earlier on in the year. But, this would be the biggest and most dangerous one yet.

And it hadn't been set to take place for a couple more months.

Needless to say, things had gone wrong. And that it didn't matter how tired Jenny was, the moment she'd gotten word from Cynthia about was going down, she was up and in MTAC before the dial tone could even echo in Senator Winter's ear.

Due to some quick thinking on her part, and some impromptu improvisation from her agent's, they'd collectively managed to pull the escapade off. Thankfully, there had been no casualties on their side (NCIS agents or the oversea agents they were cooperating with). And out of the group of twenty insurgents that had been sent to accomplish the mission, the taskforce had managed to arrest fifteen and...five had been killed.

Still as wrong and as morbid as it may be, that wasn't what bothered her.

What bothered her was that there had been a moment when she _hadn't known what to do_. She had worked her way up to the Director's chair, she was young (er than most) and maybe even slightly unqualified-of that she was well aware. On the way up the political ladder she'd passed up quite a few people who _had _been older and _were _more experienced.

And from one promotion to the next, those thoughts hadn't bothered her. All she kept thinking was that she would prove herself, she wouldn't be held back by the sexist political world she lived, and well-that she _needed _this chair and the power that came with it.

Not once had it occurred to her that she might not be ready for it.

Rolling her shoulders back, she tossed those evil words from her mind. She couldn't think like that, she couldn't think about things like that again or she would just keep going in the same never ending circle she'd been going in for years.

Being in the position of Director would help her break that circle, hopefully.

And if she didn't do something soon tonight, she would go insane.

Rolling back her shoulders she leaned forward and snatched her office phone off the cradle. Dialing in the generic number ever federal agency Director should know, she leaned back again and listened to the sound of the bland ringing.

There was someone whom she was sure could take her mind off where it was tonight.

She just hoped he would answer.

* * *

"WHAT?!" The shouted word was the only form of greeting-if it could be called a greeting-she got.

"Who shoved a stick up your butt?" She shot back heatedly.

The line was silent for a moment, and Jenny was halfway tempted to just call it a night and hang up. It hadn't been a good idea to call him anyway, she reasoned. He didn't want to hear from her...

But what she couldn't possibly imagine, was what he was really doing. Waving one arm wildly at Tobias he made the gesture that stood for 'get out', one that people tended to get universally.

Apparently everyone _except _Tobias Fornell, who just stood there with a bemused idiotic look on his face. The anger coursing through his vein, residing from his previous fight with Fornell, was close to overflowing at this point. And hoping to get his point across, his hand flew to his side holster and slid out his Glock. With a steady hand he pointed straight at Fornell, and...

_The idiot freaking put his hands behind his head._

With an exasperated silent eye-roll, he made sure the to lay down the phone so that the line was still connected. And jumping over to where Tobias was he place one hand on his shoulder and spun him around. Throwing open his office door, he gave Tobias a violent shove and sent him stumbling away.

His door shut with a final noise. Sliding his sidearm back in place, he hurried over to his desk. Snatching up the phone, he asked in slight disbelief...

A distant muted _'thud__' _echoed in the background from his end, and Jenny's brow scrunched up in confusion.

_'What the hell is he doing?'_

Before she could ask Jethro was back on the line, she could tell by the heavy breathing. And just when she was prepared to endure a heated argument from him his husky voice asked, "Jen?"

His voice was a mix between disbelief and breathlessness, and Jenny had to bite down on her laugh.

"Yeah?"

"...Uh...what I said earlier...it wasn't meant for you."

"Mmmm, so what poor lowly little servant were you yelling at this time?" She teased gently, all thoughts of anger out of her mind. Truth be told, she found that mood swings seemed to go hand-and-hand with her interactions with Leory Jethro Gibbs.

That and sarcastic banter.

"Just Fornell...and he deserved it..." He said a little petulantly in response to her teasing, settling himself in his office chair he got into his usual position, legs propped up lazily on his desk.

"What did he do this time?" She was bored and tired, it wouldn't hurt to indulge his most likely petty little annoyance with Agent Fornell.

He almost opened his mouth to tell her that the FBI was potentially being corrupted by a currently unknown foreign entity. That said unknown foreign entity seemed to be moving into a position to play a more personal game with him...

And well, that Tobias was under the impression that he was being left in the dark on something.

But then he remembered that even though he'd spent his birthday with this woman. And _one _other _night_, it didn't mean that he could trust her with everything under the sun.

Besides she was the head of a potential rival agency. Even if they were both working on the American side, he could almost guarantee that there would be a time that NCIS and the FBI would go toe-to-toe once more.

Since he didn't particularly like those thoughts, he said the first thing that came to mind...

"He called me a man whore again," he mumbled.

The surprised laughter he heard on the other end of the line was worth whatever teasing he might have to endure.

"Awwww," she cooed, "poor baby. If it's any consolation Agent Fornell annoys me too...Though, he's never called me a whore."

Ignoring the many whispers he'd heard concerning the new, young, and beautiful Director. He pushed thoughts of petty men and jealous women aside he answered her teasing comment with a seriousness that surprised her, "good. He better not, and if he ever does-he's fired."

Her lips parted and sharp shocked breath escaped her. The grip her slim hand on the receiver tightened, and Jenny hand to take a moment to wet her lips before she could respond.

"You...would do that for me?"

"Ha," he barked a sudden self-conscious laugh, "yeah. I've been accused of being a chauvinist a few times."

"I can imagine," she murmured, and taking another steadying breath she thought of what she could say to break the unusually stifling silence threatening to engulf them...

Glancing over at the clock on her wall she checked the time. Her eyes widened fractionally when she saw what time it was, and more so at the fact that he'd answered his office phone at this time.

"What are you doing in your office at midnight?" She asked.

In a slight bit of shock, Gibbs glanced over at his own office clock. Reading the time, he tried to bite back a grin. She wanted to know what he was doing here at midnight? What was she doing over _there _at midnight?"

So he asked her.

"What are _you _doing calling _me _at midnight?"

That was something she didn't at the moment know the answer to. What was she suppose to tell him? That she'd had a hard day-week-at work, and didn't want to go back to her cold and empty house at the moment.

That instead of gathering up her paperwork and going home for a fitful night's rest, like she should do. She was currently sitting up in her office, calling him at the spur of the moment at midnight.

Her mind ran rampant with thoughts for a decent excuse. It was too late of an hour to be work related. And well, she couldn't really think of a good reason for it to be personal...

Until the proverbial light-bulb lite up for her.

Relaxing in her seat, she said to him, "I was sitting here and remembered something."

"What's that?"

"Don't you owe me coffee?"

* * *

Seemingly oblivious to the obvious November cold surrounding him, Gibbs exited the warmth of his own car with only the protection of his thin suit jacket to shield him from the elements. First making sure that he had in fact locked his car, he didn't really give a damn about his house but his car was another matter entirely, he crossed the narrow street over to the entrance of the small dingy twenty-four hour diner.

Pausing on the sidewalk right outside of the glass doors, he made sure the redheaded woman seated in the booth by the window hadn't seen him yet. Once he determined that he would be able to go through with his plan to surprise her, he pulled his simple cellphone out of his jacket pocket and flicked it on. Pressing the numbers he knew by heart, he put it to his ear and waited.

The phone was picked up after the first ring. Without waiting for a greeting, and without turning his gaze on the nondescript car that had followed him all the way from the Hoover building, he simply uttered one command.

"Stay."

Now that that was taken care of, again without waiting for an answer-he hung up, and replacing the phone back in his pocket he pushed open one of the finger smudged doors.

She turned around at the sound of the annoying tinkling bell that announced his entranced.

She smirked.

He grimaced.

Paying no mind to the far too young waitress that had hurried up to him, he stalked his way over to the window seat where the woman he'd come to meet sat.

Tossing himself down on the side opposite her, he tossed his chin in the direction of the window she was staring out of so intently.

"People watchin'?" He grunted.

"Ha," she tilted her head, a teasing smirk gracing her lips, "yeah. It's like rush hour out there."

He snorted, and turned his own attention at the view she'd been staring at. The street he'd just come in from was empty of people, it's only occupants being a few run down cars, and the quickly building banks of snow that were gathering.

And the snow was only flurries right now, in November. Gibbs couldn't wait to see what DC looked like come December.

"So where's your detail at?" She asked suddenly, interrupted the their shared moment of quiet contemplation.

Without answering her verbally, he nodded at the portion of the dark street she couldn't see behind her. Turning with a level of discreetness he was sure wasn't _that _necessary considering the diner was practically deserted besides himself and Jenny, the waitress that greeted him, an elderly cashier, an what sounded like a clerk in the back. Her hair tumbled over her back as she tried to locate why she hadn't seen him originally come in.

Turning back to him, she lowered her voice and asked, "the sedan?"

He nodded once.

She gave a low impressed whistle and for a moment he thought she was impressed over the subtleness of his security detail. But that impression was soon nixed when she cocked her head and murmured half to herself, "I wonder whose Charger that is?"

If he had had a drink with him at that moment, he would've choked on it.

"You know cars?" Attention back on him now, she gave him a look that was a mix between concern and annoyance.

"Not many," she admitted after a moment, "but I do know a good car when I see one, and a Dodge Charger's one of them."

If he had had a ring he would've asked her to marry him right then and there.

"It's weird seeing one on this side of town," she was speaking more to herself again, he could tell. And he was hard pressed to wipe off the smug look on his face before she was looking at him again.

"What?" She asked suspiciously, she'd managed to get a glimpse of his face before his typically impenetrable mask had taken over.

"Nothing," he said, glancing down at the sticky tabletop his hands were folded on. When he could tell she wasn't going to let the subject go so easily, he looked up and changed the subject.

"Don't I owe you a coffee?"

Clearly able to tell that he wasn't going to elaborate on his not so convincing 'nothing'. Jenny filed the matter away for another time, and relaxing back against the tacky plastic seat cushions she nodded primly.

Coffee. After all, that had been what this whole meeting was suppose to be about. Right?

Waving back over the young woman that had rushed at him when he first entered, Gibbs relaxed his back against the seat also. His blue eyes scanning over the relaxed form of Jenny lazily.

She looked good, even if-upon further inspection, he could tell she looked exhausted all at the same time. She was dressed in a chocolate brown blouse, one of those shirts that had the frills on the ridiculously short sleeves that he never could understand why women wore so often. And if he leaned back just a little bit farther he could see from between the gap in between the edge of the table and his stomach, that she was wearing a crisp white skirt that seemed to fall just below her knees. Her tiny feet were decked out in ankle boots the same color has her blouse, and had at least a three inch heel.

Looking back up when he heard the frenzied 'clip-clopping' of the waitress approaching, he was immediately drawn to a pair of twinkling green eyes.

Refusing to be shamed for his blatant elevator eyes, he glared at her impassively. Her head tilted to the side, and the mischievous twinkle in her eye was replaced by a blatant message.

_'Do you like what you see?'_

Personally he thought he did a damn good job of hiding the fact that his mouth had just gone _very _dry all of a sudden. And he couldn't have been more grateful for the excellent timing of the impatient throat clearing coming from the waitress waiting to take their order.

Snapping his eyes away from the lips he'd suddenly realized were painted a soft pink instead of the sinful red he'd seen them decked out in a previous two times. He tried to throw out the myriad of improper thoughts that were running rampant, while he focused on the fact that he was suppose to be ordering two semi-decent cups of coffee for them both.

"Uh," his tongue darted out to wet his lips, "coffee. Jamaican."

And just when he'd been about to turn back to see what kind of coffee the devil woman took. He felt the lightest of light pressures on the inside of his thigh.

That was the moment Leroy Jethro Gibbs was very unexpectedly prone to a semi-violent coughing fit, that _hopefully _covered the sound of his knees banging against the underside of the table.

"Sir," the young blonde gasped, bending over closer to him, "sir, are you okay?"

"He's fine," the evil redhead currently torturing him leaned over the table-foot still inching it's way up his thigh, "he's a chain smoker and it's coming back to bite him in the butt along with old age."

The vindictive woman _cooed _the words, making them sound like the most sincerest thing ever spoken. She even gestured to her chest sympathetically!

"He just needs some water a drink," she said sweetly, and the waitress nodded.

"And a time machine," Jenny couldn't help but add sweetly.

Nodding once more the young woman turned, the pen she was carrying tapping seriously against the order pad clipped to her white apron.

It was a good thing she had back turned because she thankfully missed the look that crossed Jenny's face when her big toe was cruelly pinched in retaliation to her words. Taking her injured foot back in her own possession,He just needs some water a drink," she said sweetly, and the waitress nodded.

"And a time machine," Jenny couldn't help but add sweetly.

Nodding once more the young woman turned, the pen she was carrying tapping seriously against the order pad clipped to her white apron.

It was a good thing she had back turned because she thankfully missed the look that crossed Jenny's face when her big toe was cruelly pinched in retaliation to her words. Taking her injured foot back in her own possession, she pouted at the now gleeful man sitting across from her.

"Bastard," she mouthed, slipping her foot back into her boot.

"You deserved it," he shot back.

The retreating waitress chose that moment to turn back around, with a distinct air of distraction she addressed Jenny breezily, "and for you? What did you want?"

It took Jenny perhaps a second too long to realize that she meant _coffee_.

"Um," she didn't think this little homely diner would have any sophisticated lattes or espressos.

Eventually she just gestured over to the far too smug man sitting across from her and said, "same as him."

"Okay," the younger woman agreed easily, and flounced out of site.

Momentarily distracted from her indignant outrage at the treatment of her poor toes, she slid down in her seat and had to cover her small smile.

Jethro just looked at her intently, a hint of his previous good humor lurking around his eyes.

"What do you think she's on?" She whispered meaning the flouncing, distracted, breathy waitress.

Looking over in the direction the other woman had disappeared in, Gibbs shrugged in a non-concerned gesture. Neither of them were vice or narcs, and as far as he was concerned they were both off duty at the moment.

"Just don't eat the brownies," he deadpanned.

Jenny almost choked on her own laughter. Geez, it was refreshing being around him. He was sarcastic and had a dry wit, and most importantly he was just the right amount of detached to the world around him.

Though, that could also be contributed to fact that she'd only met him twice. And one of those times had landed them in bed, drunk.

Cutting off her fit of laughter was his sudden soberness. Leaning forward towards her, he half looked like he was about to reveal state secrets to her, maybe it was the familiar atmosphere that made her react in the same what.

"What?" She pressed nervously.

"You've been redeemed," he said quietly.

"What?" She exclaimed, leaning back. What had she possible done to him that she needed to be redeemed for?

"You've been redeemed." He repeated just as seriously.

"I heard you," she clarified, "I'm wondering what I possibly needed to be redeemed for and what I did to possibly redeem myself?!"

"Your taste in coffee, it makes up for your lack of taste in alcohol."

For the life of her she couldn't figure out how to respond to that. Her tongue and words were usually Jennifer Shepard's best weapon, but lately they seemed to be failing her more and more.

So she settled for just a smile.

* * *

Half a hour later and they were sitting in a comfortable silence, both nursing empty mugs of coffee. Gibbs had had a second one after his first, and Jenny had hastily declined when asked if she'd wanted another.

Truth be told, she hadn't actually known what Jethro had ordered. And the black Jamaican coffee had taken her by surprised, but she just hadn't had the heart to tell him that she thought it tasted like toxic sludge.

So she'd choked it down gracefully.

Now, after a few lighthearted remarks that had made her laugh and him chuckle softly, they were left at an impasse. She was waiting, wondering if she would have to make the next move. But of course Jethro Gibbs would not disappoint a woman that way...

The corner of his mouth was quirked up in a cute little way, and she internally laughed at the fit she just _knew _the man would throw if anyone dared to call him cute.

But with his next words, it was hard to keep from calling him that aloud. Because this man hadn't tried to subtly inflect his words into the conversation, instead he'd leaned forward and asked her quite bluntly-

"So Jen, are we having sex tonight or not?"

One part of her, the feminist side of her, told her that she should slap him in outrage at his comment. But she couldn't bring herself to do that, because..._God_-they'd both known that was what tonight was going to come to.

Still...she couldn't resist messing with him a little.

Pursing her lips she sighed, "well I do plan to have sex tonight-"

Her next words stopped his little 'quirk' from turning..._cocky_.

"But Jethro," she simpered, "I don't know who you plan on having sex with tonight!"

No matter how hard she bit down on her lip she couldn't stifle her giggles at the man's flabbergasted look. The poor bastard...it was wrong of her to tease him for thirty minutes, just to make him think he would have to pay a visit to some woman named 'Sunshine' tonight.

"Jen!" He whined, and even he couldn't deny the fact that what had just come out of his mouth _was _indeed a whine.

"Aww, poor baby," she trilled, "you should've realized. I don't put out on the first date."

And right then and there, all whining pushed aside, he shoved aside his empty mug and crossed his arms. That cocky smirk was back, and the words from their conversation earlier played over and over again.

He was ninety-nine point nine percent sure he was going to get lucky to tonight.

"Good thing this isn't a date then," he repeated the words from the stipulation she'd made sure to add into their conversation earlier.

She smirked, and this time the mischievous look he saw in her eyes was welcome.

Sliding out of the booth he stuck a hand out towards her. Foregoing his proffered hand, she slid out on her own, and without looking back she practically _pranced _towards the exit. He should his head slightly in disbelief, it was a miracle anyone could move as fluently as she did in those heels.

Making sure to toss a few crisp bills on the table, he took off behind her. And if anyone had been around at the moment, they might've seen how his eyes strayed slightly farther down than was appropriate.

Feeling his eyes on her, she couldn't help the smugness that settled over her own features. His eyes on her were a nice change from the overweight, slimly, eyes of far older men than him that she felt on her most days. Plus, she was sure it helped that she was unbelievably aware of just how attracted she was to him.

If her hips swayed just a little more than was necessary as she walked out onto the sidewalk, there was no one there to call her on it.

She felt Jethro's appreciative gaze intensify as she heard the annoying tinkling signaling his joining her on the outside. Graciously she gave him a few more seconds of uninterrupted staring, all while sneaking a few much more sneaky gazes at his own physique.

When the cold finally started to cause goose bumps on her foolishly bare skin, she made to move towards the SVU that was parked across from the sedan. If they stood here and started fighting over who would drive, it could take forever.

Though she should've known she wouldn't be able to get away with it that easily, a warm palm caught her elbow.

"Jen," he questioned, frustrated his examination of her rear in that skirt had been interrupted, "where are you going?"

"Why Jethro," she drawled sarcastically, turning back to him, "I was going to this thing us here city folk call _cars_. You know, those little metal boxes with wheels on them that are suppose to drive you places. Heck, I figured we might as well not walk in this weather considering-" she gestured crudely to the area of his groin, "you had enough trouble getting up last time."

He jerked her into his chest, and his light suit coat was around her before she could process that he'd taken it off. As much as she appreciated the sweet gesture, it wasn't that warm of material and she didn't really want to stand here freezing her ass off when she could be having sex.

A large hand slid into the jacket pocket that fell around her thigh, looking around furtively she jumped in surprise.

"Here Jethro?" She hissed, she did want to have sex with him tonight. But she was going to have to draw the line at doing it on a sidewalk with both their details watching.

He gave her an impatient look and slid his hand back out. Raising his hand to her eye level he jingled a set of keys in front of her.

At her confused look, he smiled wryly, "c'mon Jen let's go."

"Go where Jethro?"

"Just follow me," he huffed, and with some gentle coaxing he lead her in the opposite direction of their combined security forces. Towards the car that had been admired by a certain woman not a hour earlier.

Her eyes turned up to him in shock and a slight amount of never admitted awe when she saw where he was leading her. He looked down at her, and this time the twinkle was in _his _eye.

He jingled the set of keys again obnoxiously.

"I'll drive."

* * *

In high school she remembered a few of her guy friends, that were literally just _friends_, complaining that a guy had to have a car if he wanted to get a girl. At the time she remembered she and other female friends laughing and saying that _no_, that wasn't the reason they couldn't get girls. The reason they couldn't get girls was because of their sexist mindset that all a girl cared about was a car.

Still...now years later she was wondering if the car, or thereof, did matter just _a little_. Because right now, she could honestly say that riding around at night, through the icy streets of DC, at speeds she knew they shouldn't be traveling at-was turning her on.

"You should put your seat belt, his gravely voice interrupted her staring out the window as the night landscape blurred by.

"Hypocrite," she accused lightly, turning back to see his reaction.

Not denying it, he shrugged. Both of his hands were on the wheel, with how icy the roads were tonight he was going to take the chance of driving recklessly with the speed he was going at. Granted it wasn't his normal speed, but still-he was going considerably faster than most would.

Surprisingly still unfazed, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Jennifer Shepard shift up onto her knees, his coat still on her. A delicate hand touched his shoulder, and he felt the light weight of her warm body as she pressed her top half against him.

"Jethro," her husky voice whispered in his ear.

"Hmmmm?"

"This is pretty hot isn't it?" Her warm breath made him repress a shiver, and he felt her wicked mouth start to press open kisses around the shell of his ear and down his neck.

What she'd said would've sounded weird to most, but he got it. Riding around in the car in itself wasn't exactly what was 'hot'. No, it was the fact that even though they were two adults with strong ties to federal agencies, and knew that they shouldn't be riding around the way they were, they were doing it anyway.

Gibbs had to smile, because for him-part of the reason he drove at reprehensible speeds to most, was _because_ of the adrenaline rush it provided.

And it seemed like someone had _finally _gotten it.

It was the heart pounding rush of seeing the world outside your windshield fly by in streaks of color. It was the cold reality that if you screwed up, if you made one wrong move, you were dead.

And it was horribly irresponsible of them both to have so much faith in his two hands on the wheel, that neither deigned to put on a seatbelt.

Her pink tongue darted out a little darted in a trail along his neck, pulling back she blew on it teasingly. Wrapping her arms securely around his neck, she leaned forward and nipped harshly at the skin around his pulse point. Suckling lightly to ease the stinging.

Nudging him with her nose she rested her forehead against his temple and pressed a hot kiss to his cheek. Shifting her stance she peppered wet kisses on the corner of his mouth.

He moved his head, an instinctive response to try and follow the lips that were pulling back from his own. Tugging on his earlobe gently, she saw what he was doing.

"Eyes on the road," she rebuked him.

"Yes ma'am," he managed to rasp, ever the dutiful marine.

Rolling her eyes, she lost herself in the limited feel of the hard plains of his body. Trailing the fingers of one hand along the defined collarbone she felt pressing out of the cotton material of his shirt, she moved to the line of buttons that were done up all nice and neatly. With unusually fumbling fingers, she managed to push the far too tiny white buttons back through the holes.

Heart pounding in her throat, her warm little hand moved under his shirt, her greedy touch seeking bare skin. Only to be disappointed at the feel of another cotton material.

"Damn it Jethro," she hissed, pulling back and eyeing the white undershirt he was wearing under his polo shirt as if it had personal offending her.

Why of all days, when the only thing she'd seen him had been what she knew to be his nice button down shirts, did he have to wear _two _shirts today?

In her fit of moody pouting she was surprised when she felt a hand grasping the inside of her thigh. Whipping around to look at the man said hand belonged to, she was caught off guard by navy color of his eyes.

Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, he yanked her forward and she tumbled into his lap. Limbs entangled, she didn't even bother to try and straighten herself out enough to straddle him properly.

Moving his head his nose skimmed the underside of her jaw, the exact spot on his own neck where a mark made by yours truly, should've soon be forming.

"Jethro," she breathed, her brain functions were non-existent at the moment. Not with the way both of Jethro's hands were skimming higher and higher up her thighs each time...

_'Both of Jethro's hands...'_

"The car," she mumbled suddenly, slapping a hand against his shoulder insistently.

Pulling back, his sexy navy blues were twinkling with a suppressed humor, when he told her, "we're here Jen."

Looking over her shoulder, she saw that some point in time he'd parked the car in front of a homely, two story, craftsman cottage. It even had the white picket fence around it and everything.

It was like something out of a fairytale.

"Oh," she mumbled dumbly.

"Yep," he chuckled once, reaching behind her and switching off the ignition. He slid his keys back into the pocket of his suit jacket that she was still wearing, and waited...it was her move.

He, thankfully, didn't have to wait long. Once he'd waited the proper amount of time for her to do the apparent requisite staring at the house she'd already been to once before. After drinking in the sight of the homely little house in front of her, just turned back to him, and without further ado she pressed a hard kiss smack on his lips.

It most of been the work of some faraway guardian angels that allowed him to maneuver both of them out of the car without killing either one of them. And once he had his own feet on solid ground, Jenny started squirming for him to put her down. Setting her down lightly on her feet, she pressed both hands against his shoulders, and he groaned when she pulled away from the kiss.

Heedless to his slightly pleading look she snatched up the collar of his polo, and started marching forward. Tossing open the unlocked gate her eyes clinked against the stone walkway as she led him up to his _own _front door. Stopping, she tossed her hair and looked at him saucily from over her shoulder.

"Keys," she demanded.

"It's unlocked," he was still trying to get over the fact that he _liked _that his woman was leading him up to his _own _house.

Flinging open the door knob, she stepped over the threshold and dragged her captive in behind her. With a steadiness she was barely clinging to, she shut the door behind them a flicked the lock closed.

And then she turned around and pushed Jethro up against one of the entryway walls.

* * *

In her heels the height distance wasn't vast, but enough so that he still had to tilt his head to look her in the eye. Angling his head he noticed for the first time that night that instead of her hair being a messy waterfall of ringlets down her back, she'd obviously straightened it today.

Or..yesterday, depending on how you looked at it.

"Are you going to spend all night staring at my hair or are you going to kiss me?"

In response he brought a hand up and slid it through the silky strands of red. Pulling her forward, his lips captured hers roughly, the feel of her soft plump lips pressing against his felt good and it brought back memories of what it had felt like to kiss her lips last time. The taste of bourbon lingering in the far corners of her mouth had been a heavy aphrodisiac that night.

He was quite frankly bombarded with the overwhelming urge to see what Jamaican blend tasted like on her lips. Knotting his fingers in her hair with one hand, his other roamed from her shoulder, down her arm, lightly ghosting the side of her breast, and tickling her ribcage before settling on the small of her back.

His tongue darted out against her lower lip, seeking entrance that Jenny granted immediately. Reciprocating the slight hair pulling, both of Jenny's hands slid into the silver spikes of Jethro's hair.

"Ughfm," she couldn't hold back her strangled groan as his tongue took possession of her mouth. Stroking against her own, he roused her into a heated duel for dominance. One that she reluctantly lost when she felt the warm heat of the hand that Jethro had had pressed against her lower back, against her bare skin.

Not fair, the bastard had somehow managed to undo her blouse from her skirt without her noticing. In retaliation her nails pricked sharply at his scalp, but that seemed to encourage him when he pressed her hips flush against his. Lungs burning with the put-off need for air, she pulled away from the passionate kiss, her teeth capturing his lower lip biting at his lower lip in parting.

"Bed?" His hand was kneading the loose material of her blouse.

"Depends," she had that wicked little air about her again, "you think you can get it up this time?"

He growled low in his throat, and before she could get prepared for it he scooped knocked and arm behind her knees, scooping her up. Of course he took absolutely no vindictive pleasure at all at her shocked squeak when she thought she'd been falling.

Pushing off the wall, he put his face close to hers and grumbled his next words, "I am not old, you annoying little harpy."

That remarked earned him a punch in the shoulder, and he cut off her fit of laughter with a harsh kiss. Now that he'd managed to shut her up he took off in the direction he hoped his stairs were still located in.

Her left ankle boot was lost before the first step.

Her blouse, now rendered miraculously useless, was off before the first landing.

And yet somehow the bastard was still wearing everything but his polo, which was now littering the top step.

"Jethro," she huffed impatiently as he kicked open his bedroom door.

"Yeah?"

"You're over dressed for this occasion," her warm breath huffed in his ear. And she was taken by surprise when she felt the soft feeling of his cotton bedspread hit her naked back, save for the straps of her bra.

His weight landed on top of her, not to heavy, he was comforting and warm on top of her. Hands planted firmly on either side of her head, he lowered his face until their noses touched.

"Well why don't you take care of that?"

* * *

Her strands of red hair were spread out over her creamy shoulders, the ends reaching the top of her rib cage. The color of her hair and skin offset the snow white lingerie beautiful.

To put it simply, she looked like the incarnation of sex itself.

And she was in his bed, looking at him with that wicked smirk.

His warm lips trace patterns down her arm and over her shoulder, nudging the strap of her bra off. One clawed hand of hers was clutching at his back, urging him on, while the other had a handful of the bed sheets in her grasp.

And his hands, his hands were trailing up and down her bare thighs like they had in the car earlier. Steadily rising a bit higher each time, he consistently avoided the place she was starting to get desperate for him to be.

He wanted to go slow tonight.

She didn't have the patience for that tonight.

Knowing instinctively something that would hurry him up, she moved the hand that was clutching the sheets. And cupped the front of his grey boxers, the only spec of clothing he still had on.

Giving an instinctive thrust into her, he growled at her from where his lips were marking the hollow of her throat. Reaching down his large hand easily captured her small wrist, stopping her.

His scowl turned to a grin when he felt her squirm in impatience.

Pinning her captured hand above her head he held her there, while he pulled his head back. Ignoring her glare, he wormed his other hand other wormed underneath her back and with a deft twist of fingers, unsnapped her bra.

With some maneuvering on both their parts, that pristine bra ended up on the floor of his bedroom. Her heavy breasts free of constraints, they quickly attracted his attention.

Along with his mouth.

Licking and sucking, add a nip or two in, he felt her hand straining against the restraint. While the other scratched gently at his shoulder.

She whimpered and arched her back close to his delightful mouth.

Sliding his hands down her smooth skin he popped the straps of panties that rested on her rounded hips. Not allowing his hands to enter the fabric, he caught a firm grasp on her outer thighs. His mouth still torturing an erect nipple, with gentle hands he spread her legs further apart.

He could hear her breathing coming faster, and he quickly took those straps of her lacy underwear again. The sound of ripping fabric echoed across the room.

"That's two pairs of underwear I've lost at your hand now," she panted breathily.

"I'll replace 'em," he murmured against the skin of her stomach.

Calloused fingers skimmed through her wetness, and she had to gasp. Looking up he gave a satisfied smile at her reaction. Her eyes were fluttering between staying open and closed, and her hands were trying desperately to urge him on.

Bracing one hand to keep her legs apart, he placed a kiss in the dip from her hipbones. Nose trailing over her neatly groomed mound, he quickly employed the use of his mouth along with his fingers.

He did everything right; licked, bite, and blew lightly in all the right places. He could feel the tension rising in her body, her legs were taught out to the sides and her breathing was short and shallow.

And yet when she started trembling, he pulled back completely.

"JETHRO!" She shrieked her eyes flying open. And though that wasn't the way he'd wanted to hear her scream tonight, he had to admit it made him happy to hear her fury.

He wondered if he'd underestimated just how close she was when he saw the sheen of frustrated tears in her eyes.

Moving back up, he covered her body with his once more. Yes, he'd wanted to tease her tonight. To prove to her just how _not _old he was, he would take pity on her now.

"Shhhh Jen, it's alright," he chuckled softly, planting a kiss on her lips. He'd meant to keep it gently so that he could continue with what he had planned. She took it to another level entirely, greedily she thrust her tongue without hesitation into his mouth. And he felt a toned leg wrap around his hips, little toes wriggling into the waistband of his boxers.

"Mmmm," he pulled back, slowing the kisses-trying to calm her. Unhooking her leg he laid her back down on the mattress, and pushed himself off of her. Leaving her panting and wanton below him.

"Bastard," she hissed.

"Wait a minute," he insisted.

"What? Can't get it up?" She goaded him, her snarky side showing through.

"Jesus woman," he muttered too low for her to hear. Not dawdling any longer he started to manipulate her body where he wanted it, and she must've been _really _desperate because she didn't bother to protest.

She ended up on her hands and knees in front of him.

Thrusting her hips back, and looking at him over her shoulder.

"Hurry up Jethro," she ordered.

"Alright, alright."

Tossing off his boxers, and rising up on his knees. He grasped her hips hard enough to bruise, and right when she was in the middle of issuing him another command, he thrust into her slowly.

Moving slowly but steadily until his hard cock was fully seated in her wet warmth. He relished in the way she hung her head, her arms shook, and the low whine that she let loose.

Pulling back he started stroking her languidly, never speeding up and never slowing down. He'd only gotten in about three good thrusts before he felt her walls tightening around him.

Jenny shook and purred as she came in a dizzying, flutter of an orgasm. That came from a good, slow, buildup.

He'd slowed down while she reached the height of her climax. Helping to prolong her pleasure.

When her eyes weren't so clouded over, and the flutters had subsided to flurries. He had to grit his teeth hard when he started moving once again with more power.

There was no way in hell he was going to let this be done so soon. But, _god_, she felt good.

Her hands came up to clutch at his headboard when her hips started pushing back against his. Curving his hard body over her back, he covered her hands with his large ones and his forehead rested against a shoulder blade.

Sweat, even in the cold of his bedroom in November, was beading on him. And he could taste the salty tang of it on the skin of her back and neck.

Their movements were increasing in speed, and yet he stayed steady on the intensity. She warm, dripping wet, and so very tight, and he wanted more than anything to lose himself in her. But...

"Harder," she pleaded with him.

He didn't want to hurt her...

"You sure 'bout that?" He asked.

"Dammit, I'm not some china doll," she rasped.

He didn't bother to answer her with words.

Instead he simply stopped holding back.

Tightening his grasp on the headboard, he felt her trembling as she reciprocated. He felt like _so _deep in her, his body sheathed so completely in her.

"Don't have to keep quiet you know." He husked when he saw her biting her lip to withhold her...whatever noises she wanted to make.

He nibbled at her lengthy expanse of exposed neck she was showing. He wanted to hear her scream his name in pleasure, not frustration.

Her breathy moans and pants assaulted his ears. He wasn't going to be able to hold on much longer, feeling her softness moving so fluidly below him, he was lucky he'd held on this long.

Removing one his hands from the head board, he wrapped his arm around her and cupped a breast. Tweaking and teasing a hard nipple.

"Jethro," she choked out as a hand pinched her nipple. His head was buried in her neck, eyes clenched tightly shut. He would've liked to see what he knew what was about to happen, but he was trying so hard to hold on.

Sliding a rough hand down her smooth stomach, his hand made it's way between her legs. Rubbing hard tight circles on her clit...

_"JETHRO!"_

Her whole body clenched around his, stiffened and tight. Letting go, he gave one single grunt before shuddering around her.

And each were propelled into a state of bliss.

* * *

Her body felt pleasantly heavy, relaxed, and sated with loose muscles. Honestly, with the way she was feeling right now, she wouldn't have been tempted to move even if the house was burning down around them.

They were lying tangled in the covers on his bed, side-by-side, her head pillowed on his arm. But other than that, they weren't touching. Though it wasn't awkward, what they'd just done, it hadn't been filled with emotion either.

It was just something to make them both feel good.

"Jethro," she sighed, though she would've liked to goad him into another round. Her eyelids were so very heavy, and a good sleep was too good of a prospect to pass up. But before she could give into it, there was something she needed to say...

"Yeah?" He was slowly succumbing to sleep also.

"I take it back," she murmured.

"I know," he said smugly.

Despite the silver hair, Leroy Jethro Gibbs was definitely _not_ an old man.

* * *

_a/n: So this chapter was crap. You and I both know that. But it was really just written for the sex scene. By the way that scene is like the most intense I've ever read. Any of you think I should tone it down some on that? _

_Well, I really like it when you write what you would like/expects to see/find out in the upcoming chapter. It honestly helps me know what I should include in the next one._

_Okay so I'm fooling around with the idea of a Beta. Not really a 'Beta' 'Beta' I just need someone that can stay on butt about deadlines I need to meet, and help me develop plots better. I'm doing well with that plot developing thing alone. So if any of yall would be willing to do that? Or know a good person that might? Leave a review or PM me._

_Thanks._


	6. Regaining Independence

_a/n: Next chapter, here I go...No excuses for how long it took. Sorry guys._

_DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN NCIS_

* * *

_'Beep-beep' 'beep-beep' 'beep-beep'_

"Shut that thing off." His sleepy voice ordered into the pillow his face was buried in.

"It's yours, you shut it off." She grumbled, slinging an arm tiredly over her face.

Mumbling a bunch of what sounded like incoherent curse words. Gibbs army crawled over to her side of the bed, and instead of simply reaching over her to the nightstand where the alarm clock sat like a civilized person; he simply plopped down on her lazily, and with one swipe of his arm sent the alarm clock flying.

In response to his weight on her and the sound of the annoying alarm clock smashing against his bedroom wall, Jenny just grunted.

"Hey," he said, nudging the still half asleep woman under him. Lifting his weight off of her and back on his arms, he poked her in the ribs a few times.

"Mmmm, stop it," she slapped his hand away, her eyes still closed.

"Get up, it's 5 already," he stopped with the poking and instead just hovered over her. Only, she actually looked kind of comfortable like that.

"Jennnny are you awake," he sing-song in like a little kid, when her breathing started to even out again.

"Yeah. I'm up," she mumbled, "Go get my bag from my detail."

"We didn't ride with them last night."

"Yeah, but you know they found us. Go," she insisted, slapping his shoulder.

"Okay, okay." Hoisting himself up off of her, he slid out of the comforting warmth of the covers and her body. Padding barefoot across the room, he was almost to his door when a pillow smacked him a solid one in the back.

Whirling around he was greeted with the sight of her propped up on one elbow. Her tumbling hair covering her naked breasts, she arched one eyebrow lazily. A sleepy haze still covering her jade green eyes.

"Though I do appreciate the view. I don't think my security detail would feel the same way." She said, indicating his own nakedness.

He looked down at himself, naked as the day he was born. Yep, he'd almost forgotten that small detail.

Once he'd slipped on his pants from last night, sans boxers, and a clean T-shirt from his dresser. He headed back towards the door; opening it he made sure to toss the pillow she'd aimed at him earlier, back at her once more prone figure on the bed.

She popped back up in outrage.

"You can have first shower," he said with a smirk before slamming the door behind him.

He could have sworn he heard her say something along the lines of _'bastard'_.

* * *

"Her bag," he said to the apparently dumbstruck NCIS detail agent; who was busy staring at him dumbly.

"Oh, yes. Yes, sir. Of course," the man who looked far too young to be allowed to handle a gun, stuttered. There was apparently suppose to be two other agents, not including the driver, with her at all times-per protocol for her position. And it looked as if the surely_ older_ agents, had decided to send the newbie out to deal with the 'situation'.

So Gibbs watched, with barely withheld frustration, as the young man fumbled with the trunk. Finally, after a few times of dropping the trunk keys, the younger man was able to pop the latch.

Quickly the kid pulled out what looked to be a purple cotton duffle bag.

"Um, here you go sir," the agent said awkwardly; thrusting the bag out for him to take.

Plucking up one of the _delicate_ little straps, and turning on his heel to walk back into his house. He'd just opened his door, when he remembered something.

Looking over his shoulder, he called out gruffly, "Hey kid!"

His voice stopped the agent in his tracks, apparently he'd been trying to escape back into the car with the others when he called. Even in the early dawn light Gibbs could see the deer-in-the-headlights look the kid was wearing.

"Don't call me sir," he ordered, albeit a little less harshly than he normally would have. "I work for a living."

"Okay, ye-yes sir. I mean no-no, I uh, sorry, okay," shutting the front door and escaping into the house; Gibbs cut off the man's stammering words behind him.

Chuckling at his never failing ability to put the fear of God in the newbies, Gibbs made his way into his kitchen. Tossing the little bag onto the kitchen table, he eyed it, it...bemused him...

He just hadn't expected Jen to own something so..._cutesy_.

He heard the sounds of a shower starting up above him, and in response he made his way over to the ancient coffee maker that sat on his counter top. He was sure the morning would go a lot smoother if they both had access to coffee.

Going through the familiar motions soothed him, woke him up even more. When he finally had the smell of freshly brewing coffee permeating his kitchen. He went back to the kitchen table, and snatched up a thin little strap of the cotton purple..._thing_. With it swing in his grasp, he went back to the stairs.

Jethro smiled at the trail of clothing that followed him up the stair. He was at the top landing when he heard the shower cut off; his bedroom door was open and when he entered he saw that the bathroom door was shut.

"Jen," he called out, making sure she knew he wasn't trying to creep up on her.

"Yeah?"

"I got your..._thing_," as he spoke he tossed it on the bed, and flopped down beside it. Impatiently waiting...

The door opened and he felt the steam billowing out, rising up on one elbow he eyed the sight before him.

One of his blue towels was wrapped around her, reaching down to her thighs and tied around her chest. The generous amount of revealed skin she was showing was tinged pink from the heat of the water. And her formerly straight hair was curling into wet ringlets.

He could see the purple of a hickey on her neck, and it was no wonder why his mouth was suddenly _so_ dry.

"It's called a _satchel_, Jethro."

_'What? Oh yeah...'_

"I knew that," he replied.

"Sure you did. Shower's open," she brushed off his words, as she made her way to the bed. Grabbing her..._satchel_, she placed it on his antique dresser and began unzipping the thing.

Ignoring her saucily, and the fact that all he wanted to do was toss her back on the bed. Gibbs made his way into the bathroom for his own shower.

Only this one would be _cold_.

* * *

When the shower turned on, Jenny smiled. She had seen the look Jethro had aimed her way, and she herself had had to resist the urge to follow him into the shower.

Biting down on her lower lip to hold back a girlish giggle. Jenny eyed herself in the mirror of his dresser.

She saw everything Jethro had seen, and yet...she saw _more. _She saw the glitter in her eye and her relaxed muscles. Grant it, all of that could have been simply because of the shower. But to her, it practically screamed _'thoroughly fucked'_.

Taking a hold of one of the corners of the towel; she pulled, letting it untie and pool around her ankles. Glancing down she saw the bruises on her hips, in the shape of Jethro's fingers. Just the memory of why he'd been holding her hips so tightly made a shudder of arousal go through her.

Turning her head to the side she fingered the hickey that was blooming on the side of her neck. Normally she would've griped him out for leaving one, but by a stroke of luck she had just the thing in her bag to cover it.

Reaching into her _satchel _she took out the black cotton bra and panties set she kept in there. It wasn't fancy by any means, but today she was going for comfortable-not sexy.

Hooking and adjusting the bra, she leaned down and slipped into her panties. She could already tell that she would be a little sore today, but it would be a good type of sore.

Going back into her magic little bag of goodies; she grabbed the pair of white trousers she kept in there. Pulling them on herself; she brought out her last two options.

For a shirt, she could choose between a pink, silky, short sleeved blouse or a dark red turtleneck. A turtleneck, it was just her luck that she'd included one today.

Tying her wet hair up in the towel, she slipped the turtleneck on after that. Making sure to settle it so that the hickey wasn't showing, she grabbed the small makeup compartment she kept in there and a pair of white stilettoes.

Leaving her shoes to put on for later, she was so caught up in trying to put on her makeup decently that she hadn't realized that at some point in time the shower had turned off. And that a miraculously already dressed Jethro had sneaked up behind her.

She jumped considerably when she felt two hands on her hips.

"Keep your guard up," he murmured, greedy fingers tugging at the neck of her shirt. He was trying to see the marks he'd left on her..."Why'd you have to cover it up?" He whined petulantly like a little kid.

She explained patiently, her tongue in her cheek, "Because Jethro, the boss can not just go around flaunting the fact that she was thoroughly fucked the night before."

She felt his smile against her shoulder, "Thoroughly fucked," he repeated smugly. And his nosy fingers dipped into the waistband of her pants. She didn't stop him, as she pursed her lips and applied her favorite shade of red lipstick.

He stiffened suddenly, and she looked up to see what had bothered him so badly. He was looking at her hips in shock, frozen, with alarm.

"Did I hurt you?" There was worry in his eyes when he brought his gaze back up to hers, from eyeing the bruises.

"Oh, Jethro, no. God, no," setting down her tube of lipstick. She spun in his arms and looked him in the eyes, trying to reassure him. But how was she suppose to explain to him that she hadn't felt as good as she had last night in a long time?

They were quiet for a minute, and this time the silence was tense.

"I've got coffee going downstairs."

"Yeah, I'll be down in a minute."

* * *

"So I don't suppose you happen to have a hair dryer anywhere?" Her heels had announced her before he'd seen her, and when she did come into sight she was towel drying her hair.

"Why," he asked, eyeing her now only damp red curls, "I like it how it is."

"I'll take that as a no," she said snickering. Though she appreciated the compliment, by the time her hair was fully dry it would look like a hairstyle she would've worn back in the eighties

"You would be correct."

"Hmmmm. Not surprised," she hummed righteously.

"What's that suppose to mean?" He asked turning around to face her with two cups of coffee in hand. Grabbing hers with one hand, she leaned back against the door frame and eyed him.

"Nothing! Just that you don't seem to be the type to take much stock in your appearance." She simpered teasingly, her gaze roaming over his messy hair that was a little more than a crew cut.

"You don't like the way I look?" He grunted questioningly, one rough hand running through his messy strands a little self-consciously.

Jenny cocked an eyebrow at him provocatively. Refraining from answering, she simply brought the mug to her mouth and sipped at the black coffee. She watched as he turned away from her, and she had to consciously keep from choking and grimacing on the tar he'd given her.

It helped that she had a perfect view of his..._very _nice butt.

Her..._not _staring was interrupted by his turning back to her; she averted her eyes quickly, but they came to land on the canister he had in his hand. It was a container of coffee creamer that he had probably never touched, and he was handing it to her.

She felt the blood rushing to her face. Stepping forward he invaded her personal space, nudging the container of creamer into the hand that wasn't wrapped around the mug. She brought her eyes up to meet his...

"You don't have to pretend like you like it," he said, indicating the cup of tar she had in her hands.

"How did you know?"

"You aren't that great of an actress, Jen."

_'Jen,' _there it was again, that nickname...she gripped the container of coffee creamer a little tighter.

"So do I lose points for this?" She asked, only a little teasingly. Gibbs did seem to take stock in what she chose to drink, it was a little weird actually. And just the tiny hint of endearing.

"Naw," he drawled, stepping in closer to her. Their foreheads came close to touching, and neither spared a thought to how this should have been an intimate moment between other...people. _This_, was just teasing and lighthearted fun between two people who just so happened to have had sex twice.

"Your tastes suck, but you get points back for staring at my butt."

Ignoring his annoyingly smug face she suddenly became _very concentrated _on adding her creamer.

* * *

A few things led to another, in the space of only a few minutes; after guzzling down her sweetened coffee and him-his plain sludge of coffee. Well, things happened...and it led to them, for lack of a better word, _making out _against his front door.

Her back was pressed flat against the door, and he was pressed flat against _her_. She had a hand clutching the back of his neck, and the other was sweeping over the broad expanse of his clothed back. While his hands were left bruising her hips and, his lips-her neck.

They had been getting a little _too _into it for their own good, most likely, when they heard the increased sounds of a honk from out doors.

Not one to be disturbed by something that was most likely from down the street, Gibbs continued in his haze of marking her neck. While Jenny on the other hand...woke up.

"Jethro," she said breathlessly-not yet at panting, but close.

He ignored her.

She whacked his clothed shoulder, and his lips disengaged from her skin. Meeting her eye, she had to resist the urge to point out that their recent activities had only messed up his hair more.

"I was busy," he growled petulantly; she indulged him with a wry grin.

"I realize that, and I appreciate all of your hard work. But we do both actually have jobs we have to go to today."

"Nah, I'm good." He shot back, scrunching up his face in denial. Ducking under her chin, he resumed his former work.

"Jethro," she said again, and just when she was about to reluctantly give up the fight and give him-and herself-a few more minutes of this. A thought occurred to her...

This time she pushed him back a little harder, and ignored his disgruntled protest while she lunged for her purse that sat on the floor beside her overnight bag. Snatching it up, and yanking it open, it took her only a little more than a second to pull out a makeup compact.

"I swear if you left marks," she muttered at the man that stood pouting in front of her. Flipping it open, she angled the little oval shaped mirror the way she wanted it. In it she could make out the faint marks of Jethro's teeth, visibly over the top of her turtleneck.

"You idiot!" She hissed at him, turning head on towards his unapologetic face. She gestured angrily towards the faint marks. "That's why I was wearing a damn turtleneck in the first place!"

"Calm yourself down." Rolling his eyes at her dramatics, he leaned forward and roughly tugged the neck of her sweater up higher-

"There," he said in satisfaction, rolling back on the soles of his feet; he grabbed the makeup case out of her hand and manipulated the mirror so that she could see herself in it.

The marks were gone; hidden from sight underneath her blood red sweater. As long as she kept the neck of it high enough, it would be like they were never there.

Without replying, she went to take back her mirror, but he twisted it out of her easy reach. She watched as he turned it towards himself and had to smother a grin as he yanked his own fingers roughly through his hair; doing quite the bad job at smoothing it.

"Vain."

"What?" He snapped, turning sharp eyes on her.

She shrugged off her words in a fake cough, no longer trying to hide that grin. When he continued to glare-, "You heard me," she accused.

"Not vain," he protested. "Marine," he said as if that explained it all.

_'Marine,' _that was a piece of information for her to store away for later. Just when she was about to make a 'breezy' comment about it, he interrupted her.

"Dammit, Jen," he growled; pulling a bit at the collar of his shirt.

She didn't even have the willpower to try and smother her smug look. Even though he was glaring angrily about it, she couldn't care less.

It was alright for him to give her a hickey.

But it wasn't alright for her to give him one?

"What's the big deal?" She finally sighed, when he didn't give up his angry glaring after a moment or two. Weren't guys suppose to see hickeys as like badges of honor that they'd managed to get laid? Besides, she couldn't believe he hadn't noticed the big purple bruise marking his collarbone in the shower. It wasn't like it wasn't that noticeable.

"The big deal is that I have to go to the-," he stopped himself suddenly in his rebuke, and Jenny's curiosity spiked to dangerous levels.

He had deliberately cut himself off from saying where he was suppose to go today.

"Where is it...?" She drawled, waiting for it to click as to where he 'had to go today'.

His icy blue eyes betrayed nothing. He wasn't going to tell her.

"Why won't you tell me?" She demanded, her hands coming up to rest on her hips. But Jethro ignored her; tugging his shirt and suit jacket to where it somewhat hid his...mark.

He handed her compact back to her.

She arched an eyebrow and refused to take it.

"You know I can't tell you."

Yeah, she knew that. But if there had ever been a more inopportune moment to point out the stupidity in what..._ever _it was they were doing, now was it.

She was-once drunkenly, and once consciously-sleeping with the Director of the FBI. Now, for any other person that might not have been _such _a stupid act, but she...

She was the new, first female director of an armed federal agency, and the youngest so far. And she just so happened, not more than a year in the chair, started to sleep with the Director of _another _agency.

Averting her eyes from his, she took her mirror back. Grabbing up her purse in one hand and her bag in the other, she let it slip back into her purse.

"Yeah, I know. State secrets and all. Let's get this show on the road," she murmured while she gripped his doorknob the best she could. Somehow she managed to get his front door open.

Blinking in the sudden sunlight, Jenny had to consciously ignore the eyes of her protection detail. Stepping out of the doorway, she heard Jethro close the door behind her; out of the corner of her eye she saw as he stepped up beside her.

Casually she turned her head away from him, and then she spotted it.

"You live down the street from the Capitol Building?" Jenny exclaimed, whirling around to face him.

He only nodded tightly, then continued in his apparent long distance attempts to intimidate the agent she had standing outside of the sedan waiting for her. Jenny was amused to realize that the senior agents on her detail had apparently abandoned the Probie agent in favor of hiding inside the car.

She most resolutely ignored the part of her that wanted to wonder about what they thought of her. The second time, they had to pick her up after coming from the FBI Director's home. Where she had spent the _whole_ night-again.

It didn't take a mastermind to realize what they had been up too. Especially since she had, stupidly, sent him out to get her bag this morning.

"You okay?" Jethro asked her after hearing a sigh she hadn't consciously let loose. Pulling away from the sight of the Capitol building in the very near distance, she realized that while she had been staring off into space like an idiot, that he had gone on ahead. Jethro was standing up ahead of her on the little stone walkway, only a few feet from the gate of the white picket fence.

"I'm fine," she answered him, yet she didn't move. Standing where she was, she realized what was wrong with the little picture in front of her. _Besides_, the obvious fact that Jethro didn't live in a nice historical neighborhood that was ideal for the protection of agency figureheads; instead...he lived in a 'white picket-fence' house-in the middle of _suburbia._

That, was something she could stop and analyze and pick apart every tiny little detail about later. What had her confused now, was the fact that there was only_ one_ group of men in dark on the road in front of them.

"Where's your detail, Jethro?"

Apparently he saw nothing wrong with the situation, "They aren't driving me today," he replied.

"You drive yourself?"

"Occasionally," he answered shortly, throwing a furtive glance over at the Dodge Charger parked in his driveway.

Jenny eyed it too as she caught up with him over at the gate. Putting a heavily weighed down hand on his arm, she managed to stop him his tracks.

He looked down at her.

"Can I help you?" He asked sarcastically.

"Yes, you can," she threw another look at the Charger, "Drive me today?"

"You, want _me_, to drive _you_?" He asked in a prefect monotone.

Gasping dramatically, she teased him, "I got a six word answer this time!"

_"Jen."_

_"Jethro."_

"It's not like the Hoover building is too far away from the NCIS building." She spoke a lie of omission, not wanting to show her last card quite yet.

He stood silent for a moment, glaring at the sense in her words. If he was going to get her off his back, he would have to give a reasonable argument. Which, foolishly, just emphasized on the respect she was rapidly garnering from him. Reaching out, he pulled her into his body by his wrist.

She flashed back to a night at a ball days ago, where he had gotten her drunk. It also just happened to have been the first night they slept together.

"What's the big secret? Are we planning to overthrow my detail?" She whispered, like they were two conspirators in the middle of a war zone. In a way, they were.

"'M not goin to the Hoover building today."

"Well where are you going?"

"I've got a meeting at the White House today," he grumbled reluctantly.

_That..._was not what she was expecting. One would think that meetings at the White House was common for agency heads. And maybe they were for ones that were higher up on the totem pole. Still, they weren't common to Jenny.

She'd only been to the White House once before, and that was the day she had officially accepted the Director's position.

Regardless if they were common or not for Jethro, the look on his face spoke that this meeting might be different. That_ this_ meeting held some special significance; an importance that wasn't to be overlooked.

"What's it about?" She found herself asking before she could stop herself, because she most certainly already knew the answer he was going to give.

"It's need to know."

Trying to shrug off the brief twinge of hurt she felt at the dismissal, she snorted at him derisively, "Figures."

"Jen-."

"Anyway," she cut him off, preparing to show her hand, "It's a good thing I'm not going to headquarters today..."

He looked at her suspiciously, as if he didn't believe her.

"Then where are you going?"

She cocked her head to the imposing white building in the near distance-

"The Capitol building."

* * *

He'd gotten up at five a.m., after not going to bed until the early morning. Now hours later, and the day wasn't even halfway over yet.

He was definitely going to need more coffee.

Two large cups most likely. It might have just been one if he hadn't been dealing with the idiocy that was American bureaucracy all morning (bar himself, of course). Sitting in one of the overheated meeting rooms of the White House for four hours, and listening to the men who didn't actually know a thing about law enforcement or military babble on while ignoring the few men at the table who _did_-

Well, let's just say it didn't even top _fifty_ on his Preferred Things To Do list.

Now, _thankfully_, he was back in the safety of his own car. Riding back to the Hoover building, and trying desperately to keep his mind off of the issue that had been bugging him all morning:

The fact that the FBI was falling apart at the seems, and not only was he the only one to know (bar a crazy old hermit that resided in Baja at the moment). But he also couldn't do a damn thing to effectively stop it.

And, well, maybe it was more like issue_(s)_.

Because something else was bugging him, and that something had the name of Jennifer Shepard.

At the moment, there wasn't a damn thing he could do for his agency. Except one thing, and that was to get in touch with a few people. But as for the other problem-

Truthfully, he didn't even know if there _was _a problem there.

So they'd had sex _twice_. So they were fairly comfortable together, and things were...easy? That was just at the moment, though, he was hard pressed to remember that. _Nothing_ stayed easy forever. Eventually, if they continued the way things were going, then things would get complicated and twisted. And so very, _very_ messed up.

Having great sex wasn't enough to prevent that from happening.

And saying that it wouldn't happen, didn't mean that he could make it _not_ happen. Screwing up relationships was to much of apart of who he was. Even if she was determined to see these things as _not _dates (things? things? It had only been coffee and dinner). It was bound to happen that he would do _something_, or she would figure _something_ out about him. About what he was doing now or about the things he _had _done in his past, it didn't matter.

She would find out, and something that hadn't even had the chance to start yet would be over.

Besides, he didn't even know if he _wanted _anything to happen. He knew that he genuinely _really _liked this woman already, but things right now were screwed to hell and back. Did he really want something to happen between them?

The scary thing was, for a man that was always _so_ sure of things, Gibbs had no clue what he wanted.

_'Two times,' _he reminded himself. Two times was not a proposal, or an offer of more. Two times was just...sex. Just point blank, uncomplicated, no strings attached, sex. And anyway, he had the feeling that-right now at least-Jenny needed him in a different way than..._that. _That was obvious just in the conversation they'd had while he was driving her to the Capitol Building.

It had been funny, and a bit sad, the way her face had lit up at the opportunity of escaping her detail. Her eyes had simultaneously shined excitedly and pleaded with him to take her away from the strict eyes of her around the clock guard. Seeing that, made him wonder just _how _she'd been living lately. Was she consenting to letting the stuffy, pot-bellied men in suits, that he'd just gotten out of a meeting with, lock her up in a tower?

Did she think he was a prince that would call for her to let down her hair?

Smirking, he fiddled with the large Starbucks cup of coffee he'd procured. He didn't know about getting her to let down her hair. But maybe...he could do something?

Considering the fact that she'd confided in him that she didn't drive herself at all anymore; restricted by security protocols that were there for her 'safety'. She told him that she hadn't driven herself since she had become an assistant director over in Europe.

_Yeah_...he couldn't do anything-at the moment-about the fact that the agency he'd been entrusted to run was burning to smithereens around him. But he could do something to help Jennifer Shepard regain her independence.

Even if it was only a _life-bringing_, _liberating_, _tantalizing_, shred.

After all, to make it in this game that was international politics. You had to grasp onto shreds like that, clinging to it like it was the only thing keeping you from falling to your death. Bringing back a charade of your former life when, the cut-throat world you lived in presently, got to be a little too much.

It was a simple matter of survival. A game, and the loser's penalty was their loss of sanity.

Who better to teach the newbie this, than the master of the game himself?

* * *

She was walking down a corridor of the Capitol Building; feeling as if she was on top of the world.

Her heels _'click-clacked'_ threateningly on the marble flooring, and she felt like a million bucks as she started towards the grand foyer of the building. It was around 3 o'clock at the time, but she'd _just_ finished up her successful meeting that got her funding for NCIS's largest mission yet to date.

Things had gone _amazingly_ well. There had been minimal arguing while Senator McClendon and Senator Parker debated on lowering her given budget. For a while she had sat, simpered when needed to, done a little ass-kissing when it was called for, and then; when she had them eating out of the palm of her hand. She ended up getting NCIS even more than she had been asking for originally.

So by the time she was ready to leave the building, she had officially chocked the day up in the successful category. She had gotten the money, and conned it out of the two most skin-fint Senators on the whole Hill. Jenny smiled, as she strutted her way down the corridor; Agent McGee was the one who had been assigned the task of following her in to the building, and her appointed shadow was getting a little flustered behind her. She'd noticed it sometime around noon but hadn't been able to do anything about it until then.

Normally, she wouldn't have been comfortable with the Probie of her team being the only one following her. But they were in the Capitol Building of all places, and she was feeling comfortable with her security while in the building. And besides, it was kind of entertaining; watching the kid trying to tell her he needed a freaking bathroom break without sounding like a preschooler.

She knew, the only way she could grant him that without embarrassing him, was if she went herself. Jenny did feel a little sorry for the kid, she thought as she entered the women's bathroom closest to the entrance. The agents on her detail weren't very accepting of herself (the woman that signed their paychecks), she hated to imagine the hazing the new kids got when on her detail.

Without thinking, Jenny made her way over to the grand row of sinks that sat on the wall opposite the entry door to the bathroom. She made a few brief adjustments to her hair, it had finally dried and with it it had became a curly mess in her eyes. But she had seen the way a few men's eyes had lingered on her today, and she was coming to terms with the fact that according to men-she _did_ look good.

Vaguely, as she touched up her lipstick, she wondered if she would look good to a..._certain_ man.

Maybe it was the fact that she was thinking about him, but she could have sworn she heard the word, _"Gibbs,"_ just then. Tilting her head as she swiped another coat along her bottom lip, she checked the angles of the bathroom in the mirror.

There were two women there, in the corner of the spacious bathroom. There was about two more in the stalls at the moment, and Jenny had been so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn't even realized she wasn't alone.

Without preamble, or shame, she automatically tuned into the hushed conversation in the corner.

_"I can't believe he was out in public again."_

_"It's been forever since he made an appearance, I wonder what prompted it?"_

She left then, quickly and in a silent hurry. The bathroom door slid silently shut behind her; weak, Jenny couldn't help but rest her back against the cold wall of the corridor. Those two women, whoever they were-she hadn't recognized them-hadn't realized she was ever even there. Too caught up in gossip, they'd taken no notice to the redheaded woman who had slipped in quietly, and left significantly paler.

_'It's been forever since he's made an appearance,' _her mind played back for her, _'I wonder what prompted it?' _Her mind was brilliant, she'd been told that by many of her superiors over the years before, but now it was taunting her meanly. She'd known that he'd hidden himself away for years, and she had yelled at him for it too. She'd been the one to berate him. She'd been the one to tell him to get his ass out and show his face again. She, the newbie on the Hill, had prompted the reappearance of the residential political hermit.

All because she was miffed at a stunt he pulled, and he found her attractive.

But the bad thing was, she didn't even doubt for one moment who they'd been talking about.

_'Hermit,' _more like legacy. In the halls of this building, the name _Gibbs _was a goddamn legend. One she had prompted the return of...Then had sex with, drunk sex once. Spent his birthday with him in a way that could have quite easily been construed as a date. Then had what very well was a late night coffee run with him, before having very sober-very _hot_ sex with him.

She felt, unbidden, her cheeks heating up at the sheer _memory _of last night. McGee came out of the men's bathroom then, looking significantly more comfortable, and as they made their way to the exit together; she had to bite her lip to hold back a smile.

Right then and there, like the snake he was, her cellphone beeped with a text. From practice, she had it in her hand and was scrolling to see the text before it even had a chance to alert her twice.

He was a snake, yet somehow (she didn't _want_ to know) he'd gotten her cellphone number.

_'10 p.m.,'_ was all it said, and an address for her to meet him at. _'__Assuming bastard, not even a please...'_

She liked it though, screw not smiling, she felt it splitting her face wide as she exited the building into the sunny December day.

He was an assuming bastard, and the thing was-if the butterflies in her stomach was any indication-she thought she kind of _really _liked it.

* * *

Timothy McGee was tired; it was his turn to complete a rotation on the Director's detail, and before that he and the team had worked a hard case. He could actually handle all of that, if it weren't for the fact that the other two-permanent agents-in the detail were quite..._mean._

He'd dealt with bullies before. But this form of bullies was worse than the ones he'd encountered in grade school; they had the power to make him deal solely in awkward situations. He actually would rather have been given a wedgie than do what he'd had to do during his time on Director Shepard's detail.

First, the woman didn't leave the office until _very late_ at night, and then she didn't _even_ go home. Instead, he'd had to sit in a car with two other mean, older agents, while Director Shepard...went on a date?

At first he'd tried to hold onto the idea that it was just a business meeting (one of pleasantries) over coffee. That didn't hold up even in his own mind for long. Considering it was close to the wee hours of the morning, and the little diner Director Shepard had met the Director of the FBI in was in a rundown part of town...It didn't exactly scream a meeting of pleasantries.

It didn't even really scream date, either. More like-according to the others-it was the standard textbook definition of a...booty call. And his defense of the woman was a little weak considering she left with the man.

All night he had to deal with the crass comments of the other agents, while dealing with his own embarrassment at the situation he was in. So he didn't get any sleep while listening to them quite rudely speculate what was going on in the house in front of them? McGee felt embarrassed on behalf of the Director, at the end of the day she was human, and yet she had to deal with people watching her every-_intimate_-move.

He could have forgiven the other agents for their treatments, if not for what they made him do next...

In the morning, when the sun had just barely risen over the horizon. Director Gibbs came out of his house, Tim had heard the name Gibbs before. Any agent had, and just like any other agent he knew that the man in front of him was a living legend in DC...And Tim had been sent out to deal with him personally; to give him Director Shepard's overnight bag she kept in the trunk.

Nervous and running short on sleep, he was quite sure he made an ass of himself in front of the man. Then again, he was quickly going on forty-eight hours without sleep, so things were a bit blurry around the edges by then.

Though he did remember, quite clearly, the feeling of disappointment he'd felt when he realized Director Shepard wasn't planning to go straight to headquarters for the day. Instead he had to follow behind the Dodge Charger, and then follow inside Director Shepard while the others got to nap in the car.

It kind of worried him, how indifferent the others were towards their boss's safety. Maybe that was what induced him to stand quietly in the back of a stuffy board room, for over three hours, holding his bladder. Or it could have just been out of simple reluctance of not wanting to ask his boss for a bathroom break.

Needless to say, by the end of that meeting, he officially hated everyone in the detail for leaving him alone. And he had a brand new respect for Director Shepard in the way she subtly gave him his much needed break without acknowledging it.

He made his bathroom trip as speedy as possible, and was it just imagination or did Director Shepard look a little...happy...when he got out? It wasn't. On closer inspection of the woman who had already been given the nickname the Ice Queen; was biting back a flushed smile that McGee was sure had nothing to do with him. She looked radiantly happy, and either she was flying high on endorphins or she was just that good of a diplomat; but she somehow manged to blithely ignore all of the _not so_ tactful comment of her elder agents on the way back to the agency.

As much as he'd enjoyed his little ride along, he'd never been more happier than the moment he saw the NCIS building pull into site. Once they'd pulled into the garage, he was officially off detail for another three months and back on Major Crimes.

Tim practically_ ran_ to the bullpen.

"McGoo!" Tony, his team leader, welcomed him cheerfully when he stalked past to his desk. Tony as team leader was a relatively new thing, only instituted about year before when Caitlin Todd had taken a new job as Director Shepard's Assistant Director. McGee had only been on the team a year at the point, but it was still a big enough change; only enhanced when the Director had brought along a replacement for the empty place on their team-Ziva.

Things had become a little crazy on their team with Director Shepard's arrival, and though he was pleased with the promotion to Team Leader, McGee had always gotten the feeling that the loss of Kate was one of the reasons Tony resented their new boss so much. Personally, McGee had harbored the idea that something had been going on between those two for years. And now, with Kate currently stationed in Europe, it was a little hard to continue a fling.

McGee himself harbored no ill will, he missed Kate; but he liked Ziva well enough. And he actually thought that, so far, Director Shepard had been making intelligent decisions. All he was waiting for now, was for Tony to finally promote him to the position of his SFA.

He smiled tiredly, already pulling off his tie as he sat behind his desk. Now that he was looking around he realized that it wasn't only the three of them in the bullpen anymore; Abby had joined them, and was sitting at Tony's old desk, chatting amiably across the way with Ziva.

Must have been a slow day all around in the office if Abby could afford to leave her precious lab.

"Easy night, McGee?" Tony asked nicely. The older man could tease and pick on him until the cows came home, but McGee was lucky enough that he usually knew when to back off. Though, this little burst of niceness was...unexpected.

He sighed, and maybe it was Tony's odd niceness that had lulled is mouth into a false since of security. But he found himself saying quite adamantly,_ "No."_

"Really?" His team leader asked, distracted by the game of Tetris he was surely playing on his phone. "Director came up earlier; didn't look like she had any bullet holes in her."

"No. No assassination attempts, sadly."

Tony chuckled at that, "She that bad?"

"Oh, no. It was the other agents-"

That got Tony's attention; with one eye still on his game, he looked at Tim. "I need to have a talk with them?"

There was a lot of bad things about Tony, but there were a lot of good things about him too. For instance, he was always willing to go the extra distance to protect his team. Tim shook his head hastily at the older man.

"God, no Tony. It was just the usual hazing. Heck, they were harder on the Director than me-"

"Really now?" Those words got Tony's _full_ attention on him, a wide smile spreading his face as he set his phone down. Looking around desperately for a distraction, he found that Abby and Ziva had apparently heard his misstep _too._

"It was nothing," Tim tried backtracking quickly, but they were already on the move. With a cocky smile on his face Tony rounded his desk, and crouched in front of Tim's own. And faster than he could blink Ziva was beside him, her face impassive like usual. Abby, was beside his desk, Tony's old rolling chair still spinning from the force of her push off.

"Tell us what happened McGee," Tony practically _cooed._

"No. No! Nothing happened, it was just a long night!" He protested heartily, moving his eyes to his black computer screen. He hadn't even turned it on yet, but he was hoping if he looked busy it would belay some of their questions.

He was an idiot, and he blamed it on a mixture of sleep deprivation and Abby's smile that made him eventually open his mouth. Not, Tony's emotional torture, or Ziva's threat of physical violence.

"She just-you guys know that the Director is allowed to have a personal life!" He blustered for time.

"Of course we know she's allowed a life, McGee." Ziva snapped at the same time Tony blurted out happily, "So I take that to mean the Wicked Witch of the West didn't go home alone?"

McGee was grateful when Abby intervened with Tony on his behalf, but he knew his flushed face had already given away too much. So when Tony simply said who, he figured it would be better to hide behind the weight of the legend and said with no small amount of remorse, "The Director of the FBI."

"Director Gibbs?!" At this Tony jumped in surprise, and though McGee had expected a little surprise (and suspicion). He didn't expect the pure shock that was on the other man's face. But before he could contemplate what he had done for too long; he was taken in by Abby's happiness, while Tony and Ziva backed away.

"McGee," Tony called over his shoulder from his desk. Reluctantly, McGee pulled his attention away from Abby, "Go home. You look exhausted. Take the rest of the day."

Abby offered to walk him out, and in his haste to get out of work and into his own bed. He so..._stupidly, _missed Ziva's disapproving frown and the way her eyes flitted worriedly up towards the catwalk above them.

And most of all, he missed the smug way Tony was smiling...Not quite the cat that ate the canary...More like, the cat that had the canary _cornered_.

* * *

He may have been an assuming bastard, thinking he could order around the way he did. But she was the idiot who catered to the assuming bastard, because when ten o'clock rolled around; she was at the address he'd texted her.

From halfway down the street leading to the place, she'd known where he had sent her...

Currently, she was standing in front of her towncar, in the middle of the small parking lot of an outdoor shooting range. There were no other cars in the lot, but then again-that didn't surprise her.

As an extra precaution, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked the text one more time. Yep, they were at the right place. He'd quite literally, brought her to a shooting range.

It wasn't one NCIS used, most agents from her agency used the outdoor one on the Yard. And she didn't think it was the one the FBI academy used either. So..._what?_ What was this all about?

She would have to actually move forward to find that out. Jenny tapped the hood of her car once, indicating for them to stay put (not that they would be too worried about her safety); then started forward. Her heels were muted on the cracked and broken concrete, and she had to be careful that she didn't trip and break an ankle in one of the mile long cracks that ran across the pavement.

She got to the big, glass front door of the large room that led to the range. Inside the place was dark; experimentally she grabbed the handle, and expecting to find the doors locked-she pulled.

The door gave way easily.

Biting her lip, her eyes scanned the lighted room she was walking into. To her left, there was the counter and the locked shelves where ammo was stocked. To her right, there were doors that probably led to the restrooms.

And right in front of her, there was another set of doors.

No one was in here, meaning the bastard-Jethro-was most likely waiting for her out there.

_'He might have brought me here to be his target,' _Jenny chuckled softly at that thought; rolling her eyes at her own folly she stalked towards the doors. Those, too, gave easily under her soft touch.

Outside, lanes stretched out on either side of her, illuminated very well by floodlights that rose above her. As if she were planning on crossing the street, Jenny checked the right lanes; no one as far as she could see.

She checked the left...there was a figure...about three lanes down from her. He was leaning casually against the fold away counter that the shooters stood behind, his arms were folded and he was watching her languidly.

Even from this distance, in this lighting, she could see his piercing eyes.

"So...what's this? You need a human target?" She called, a smile on her face but otherwise not moving.

"Nah. If I needed a human target, I would've called one of my agents out here."

She laughed at that, if felt good to laugh. "I believe that would be called an abuse of power."

His smirk was pronounced and he waved his hand forward, "Come over here!"

"What's the magic word?"

"...You look hot?"

"Close enough," she muttered to herself, and started towards him. She had a feeling that, even if she could get him to publicly revive himself, it would take a lot more to get Leroy Jethro Gibbs to say please. Still, she made sure he heard her when she called to him, "Assuming bastard."

"So I've been upgraded from bastard to an assuming?"

"Okay, so what's this all about?" She asked, ignoring his cheek, once they were within normal speaking range of each other. She placed her hands on her hips and adopted his own casual stance, "I'm not having sex with you out here," she warned him.

"Damn" he growled faking disappointment, but risking castration when he reached out a placed a brazen hand on her hip. She arched an eyebrow at him she was starting to realize for a man that didn't talk much, he sure was...touchy. Yet he couldn't help himself; he pulled her in closer to his body, like earlier that morning. Her hands came up and rested on his chest, he felt them burning his skin through his thick shirt. Leaning down close to her, but not quite kissing her; he murmured, "Why might I ask?"

"Because it's freezing out here."

"So if it was summer?"

"It's not."

"If it was?"

"You do remember that you got laid just last night, right?" She teased, her fingers bunching in the material of his shirt. Jenny was actually pretty cold out there, the only things keeping her warm being her coat...and _Jethro._ And truth be told, she was actually quite tired from all the long nights she'd been having. But she was just..._enjoying,_ this, too much to bring herself to leave.

At this point, she was actually a little bit curious too.

His smirk turned into a smug grin at that, and she resented reminding him of the other night if it was just going to stroke his ego. Before she could pop off with some smart retort though, a hand was at the back of her neck...and they were..._kissing._

His lips were soft and warm against hers, just like she remembered. Against her will she was about to give into the feeling and allow the kiss to go farther, parting her lips. But he pulled himself away then, leaving her feeling strangely...cold.

"So is this what we do now?" She asked quietly. Was it? Did they give each other a kiss in greeting? Is that what they did?

"I don't know."

"Why did you kiss me?"

"Couldn't help myself," he admitted sheepishly. His tongue darting out to lick his lips, in the heavy light she saw her colored lipstick smeared slightly on him.

"Here," she said, her smile back on. She didn't have to lean up so much in heels to reach his lips, so it was fairly easy to wipe off the traces of red with her thumb. His smile, soon followed.

She liked his smile, she decided when she was done. Rocking back on her spiked heels, she realized that he was still holding on to her hips tightly. His eyes lingering suggestively on her; she hummed in pleasure at his attention.

"So why did you bring me out here?"

"Oh," he cleared his throat roughly, causing Jenny to smirk. Suddenly intent on whatever he was planning (his hands still in their place on her hips), he asked her, "You don't carry do you?"

It took her a moment, and a fair amount of suspicion, before she could determine if that was a euphemism or not. Eventually deciding that Jethro wasn't one to be that subtle, she shook her head.

No, she hadn't carried since she was an agent.

"I thought so," he said, and took his hands off her hips. Reaching around her, he pulled something out of the waistband of his jeans, and something out of a holster at his side. He laid them both down on the counter in front of them. "Pick one."

Jenny looked closer at the..._guns_ sitting there so _innocently_. Without waiting for her to ask he pointed to the one on the left, "Beretta," then the one on the right, "Glock."

"Yeah, I can see that," she said dryly. "What I want to know is why we're shooting?"

"Well what did you think we were going to do? Have sex?"

"No," she bit back. She honestly hadn't thought about what they were doing here, or going to do. All she knew was that she was being challenged to pick her poison right now. She fingered the Glock lightly. "Who's range is this?"

She was talking more in terms of agencies. Jenny knew it wasn't an NCIS commandeered range, and she wasn't sure or not if this was FBI ground. But who's was it? Who's territory? Homeland? CIA?

"Privately owned. I called in a favor," he answered gruffly; still waiting on her to choose. Without a moment's more hesitation, she picked up the Glock. She'd never been fond of Berettas, and since he apparently wasn't offering up a SIG the Glock was her next choice. The cold metal tingled in her hands, it fit her like an old friend.

Put somewhere in there, there was still hesitation. He'd gone out of his way to call in a favor; to secure this range for the two of them. For what? To test her?

Most likely.

His large palm snatched up the Beretta with less hesitation than she'd exuded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him slide it back into his hip holster. She turned to look at him over her shoulder.

"Shoot." He said indicating down their lane; she looked, and for the first time she saw the paper cut out waving gently in the breeze. She felt, rather than saw, him take a step back. "You need the muffs?"

"No," she didn't need the muffs, what she needed to know is what gave him the right to test her shooting skills like this. Was she being evaluated? He wasn't her direct superior. Technically, she didn't think he could even do that.

Trusting that the gun was already loaded, she released the safety. From muscle memory she fired off three shots. All of which were just shy of dead center.

That, the evident proof in her shooting abilities, eased some of her annoyance towards him. She would've been even more annoyed if she had embarrassed herself in front of him. But she hadn't...she could shoot, she wasn't incompetent. She was feeling good about herself, nice and smug. Until she turned to him and saw the frown in between his eyes.

Immediately all of that former annoyance came swarming back.

"What?" She demanded, switching the safety back on, and setting the gun down forcefully on the counter. When he didn't reply, she got even angrier. "All right big shot. If you can do better, why don't you show me?"

"Alright then." With some gentle maneuvering, he got her behind him. Then with the utmost casualty, he shot off the rest in the clip of the Glock. He set the gun back down and turned to her, that _annoying_ smirk on his face.

She leaned around him, and even from this distance; she could tell what shots were his. _His_ were the ones in the dead center.

She crossed her arms forcefully across her chest, unintentionally emphasizing her breasts. "What the hell are we doing here."

"Calm down," he told her, coming forward and placing his hands back on her hips. Thereby taking dangerous chances with his manhood. "I just wanted to see if you can shoot, and you can."

"Apparently you can too." He leaned forward, kissing her cheeks and skimming his nose along her jawline. Mellowed out slightly by his praise, she allowed the affection.

"Was a sniper."

"Really?" That got her attention.

"Marines," he grunted reminding her of what he'd said this morning. She wanted more answers out of him, but the tenseness she felt in his own body alerted her that she wasn't going to be getting anymore answers out of him tonight. At least, about his personal life.

"So why did you want to make sure I can shoot?"

"Well," he drawled saucily, pulling back to look at her, "If I'm gonna help you ditch your detail more often. I gotta least make sure you can protect yourself."

"Wait. What?"

"I'm gonna help you regain your independence."

* * *

_a/n: No excuses for how long this took. But all I can say is that I couldn't of done this without the help of Awesomely Anonymous. Go check out her stories!_


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